


Together in Paris

by edenforest



Category: Anastasia (1997), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Anastasia AU, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Con Artists, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Mutual Pining, Road Trips, Sex, Slow Burn, gallya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-22 15:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6084789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somebody is ready to pay a lot of money to get one Illya Kuryakin back. And Napoleon Solo can forge almost anything; passports, exit visas and checks. So why not a human being. Especially when he happens to know one feisty little mechanic from East Berlin who has actually met the real Illya Kuryakin years ago. Now it only takes to find somebody tall, blond and blue eyed, train him and take him to Paris. Easy job, says Napoleon. Gaby feels like every time Napoleon says something like that there is going to be somebody pointing a gun at them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The biggest con in history

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is also pictures; aesthetics/collage type of things. I’ll put the links here if somebody wants to see those. 
> 
> [Moscow 1945: The prologue](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139822997960/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsmoscow)
> 
> [East Berlin 1963: The plan](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139823211430/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticseast)
> 
> [Gaby Teller](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139823336690/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsgaby)
> 
> [Napoleon Solo](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139823442105/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia)

**Moscow 1945**

 

Gaby Teller was already running to the door when her mother grabbed her sleeve and spoke to her in German, which she liked, because everybody else was speaking Russian.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Find the cat,” Gaby huffed, frustrated, and tried to yank herself out of her mother’s grip.

“No. You are not going to the drawing room. Is that clear?” her mother said vigorously and kneeled down to her level. “You have gravy on your cheek.”

Gaby wrinkled her nose when her mother wiped her cheek with a handkerchief. “But the cat.”

“The cat has to wait,” her mother said. ”They are having a party. It’s no place for little messy girls like you.” She smiled. Gaby huffed and frowned. “Liebchen, we are going to be here for a while, so you need to be patient and stay out of trouble. Can you do that to me?”

Gaby twisted herself in the dress she didn’t like. The sleeves scratched her. Her milkmaid braid was tight and she had only got a very tiny piece of cake. Pretty much everything that could be wrong according to a seven year old was wrong. And now she had been separated from the only thing she liked in this big, bleak house besides the cake: the cat.

“Gaby?” Her mother waited.

“Yes,” Gaby huffed.

”Good,” her mother sighed. “If you are nice, there may be a second piece of cake for you.”

Gaby was already smiling a bit.

“But you can’t go to the drawing room,” her mother reminded her. “Promise me.”

“Yes,” Gaby muttered and wasn’t very pleased.

“Say it properly,” her mother asked for a confirmation.

“I won’t go to the drawing room,” Gaby promised unwillingly.

“That’s a good girl,” her mother said and stood up. “Stay in this part of the house. And don’t be in anybody’s way.”

Gaby nodded quickly and went. She stopped behind the corner and peeked back, a little mischievous grin on her face. Her mother, in white apron, returned to the kitchen and Gaby slipped out to the drawing room. She sneaked behind the people and circled the room against the walls. She walked in the foyer and climbed to sit on the stairs. It was good place to observe the party and not be in the way. Gaby pressed herself against the railing when an older couple walked down the stairs and she expected to be asked to leave. But the man merely patted her head awkwardly, smiled and said something in Russian. The little actress in Gaby smiled back immediately because that they were expecting it and she played her little part well. It took only a few minutes longer for the cat to come and then everything was fine again. Maybe her mother didn’t want her to be in the party, but she couldn’t get into trouble by sitting on the stairs, and she also kept the cat entertained. It purred on her lap and Gaby stroked its silky soft yellow fur.

Then Gaby saw the boy across the room and giggled. She giggled because of the bandage on the right side of his face. Her mother had told that the boy was home from a boarding school because he had fallen down the stairs. Gaby was sure that falling down the stairs looked like somebody would do cartwheels down the stairs and she had giggled then too. Her mother had given her clip on the ear. Still she found the concept funny. The boy himself was not funny, only serious. But the party was to Gaby’s thinking quite boring, so maybe the boy thought that too. Everybody was just talking and walking slowly around. It was dull. Gaby would’ve preferred if there was dancing.

The boy looked across the room straight at Gaby. She bit her lower lip and squeezed the cat a little tighter. He would most certainly recognize her as a spy and turn her in. And then it would be back to the kitchen and a certain clip on the ear. But to Gaby’s relief the boy didn’t do that. He only watched her for a while, looking serious, and then turned his head away. Gaby thought that he looked like the religious icons that were in every home in here. He was blond and blue eyed. Gaby couldn’t be an icon. Her cheeks were too chubby and she couldn’t ever sit in one place long enough for somebody to paint an entire picture of her. But the boy looked like he could sit still that long. Gaby wrinkled her nose and focused on the cat. It purred and lay limp in her lap.

Finally Gaby got tired. The cat was so warm and the purring so relaxing. She separated from it and returned to the back of the house to the world of servants. She went in a little parlor, curled up in an armchair and fell asleep. She didn’t wake when her mother carried her in to bed.

***

Gaby woke in the  middle of the night because of a loud noise. Her mother woke next to her and set her hand protectively on her side.

“What is it?” Gaby asked.

Her mother shushed her and listened. There were Russian yells in the air.

“Fire.” Her mother then exhaled. “We have to go. Put your shoes on. And a coat.”

Gaby yanked her shoes on and then her mother dragged her along the dark corridor. They ran through the kitchen. There were other people there. Gaby couldn’t see any fire, but everybody was speaking or yelling in fast Russian which she couldn’t understand and people looked scared.

“Come,” her mother ordered and pulled her toward the kitchen door.

Gaby followed but turned to look at the drawing room’s door when there was a loud and terrified scream that shook the whole house. That frightened her. Outside there was thin layer of snow still on the ground, but her breath didn’t steam. Still, Gaby was happy to have the coat over her thin nightgown. Her mother pulled her farther from the house and they stopped in a crowd of other kitchen staff. Only then Gaby could see the flames. People were running around. There were several black cars in the yard and men in dark suits. Gaby leaned closer to her mother and her warmth. Then she remembered the cat. The cat was still inside the house. She couldn’t leave the cat.

Gaby’s fingers slowly separated from her mother’s hand and she glanced quickly to Gaby. But because she was still there and they were fine she turned her face back to the others. Gaby took a few cautious steps away and then she ran. She was almost back to the kitchen door when her mother yelled for her.

There was nobody in the kitchen, but there was smoke coming under the drawing room door. The cat was more important than her fear, and Gaby ran through the door. She gasped when she saw that the other side of the room and the foyer were in flames, bright orange everywhere. The heat burnt her face and she had to turn away. Gaby could hear somebody grunting something and it made her instantly crouch behind the couch. It wasn’t a scared grunt, it was angry one. Two men hurried across the room. They were wearing long coats and they had guns. Gaby wanted to cough, but her instincts said she couldn’t. The men went and Gaby couldn’t see the cat.

She knew she had to return to the kitchen and outside. But before she could, she saw the boy. He stood up behind an armchair very close to where the men had just been. Gaby gestured to him to quickly come to her. She didn’t want him to burn even if the cat was more important to her. He ran across the room with a coat over his pajamas. There were voices behind the kitchen door and he stopped Gaby from opening it. Gaby turned to him angrily because they needed to leave, but the boy looked scared as he stared at the kitchen door. Gaby didn’t understand what they were saying behind the door, but the boy did. And if he didn’t want to go there then Gaby believed that they shouldn’t. He had fallen down the stairs and lived through it. In Gaby’s mind that was a very impressive thing to do, so she was convinced.

The room was hot and Gaby wanted to cough. She remembered the cellar she had been told not to go into anymore. So Gaby grabbed the boy’s wrist and yanked him along. She pulled him to the servants’ part of the house, peeked in the dark corridor before going there, and then opened the cellar door. Gaby could hear a sad moan and she looked around frantically. It was the cat, hiding under a chair by the wall.

“Go,” Gaby said to the boy. He probably didn’t understand her German, but she had motioned towards the door, and apparently he wasn’t stupid, because he did as she told him.

Gaby kneeled on the floor and reached for the cat. It was scared and scratched her. Gaby gasped at the sharp pain on her hand but ignored it and grabbed the cat almost furiously by the scruff of its neck and yanked it forcefully to her arms. She had returned to a burning house because of that cat and the cat was coming with her, whether it wanted to or not! She ran in the cellar and pulled the door closed behind her. Gaby guided them between shelves to a small door and into the chaos outside.

Gaby squeezed the cat tightly and finally coughed. She could smell the smoke on her coat. There were Russian yells in the night air, the flames illuminated the darkness, firetrucks started to come. Gaby felt like there were more people than at the party. She turned to the boy, but he had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Gaby moved farther from the house and wandered among the people.

She heard her name called out and saw her mother running to her. She was crying and looked terrified. “Where did you go?” she shouted, and kneeled on the wet ground. Gaby felt bad because her knees were going to get wet.

“I was getting the cat,” Gaby said, and suddenly the chaos, the fire, and her angry and sad mother made her want to cry.

Her mother looked at her with her eyes wide, then at the cat, then back to Gaby. “Stupid girl,” she yelled and Gaby started to cry. “Stupid, stupid girl. Have you any idea what could’ve happened?” she cried and grabbed her shoulders tightly. “Don’t you ever again do anything that reckless again.” Then she pulled her into a tight hug. Gaby could hear the cat moan, but she didn’t care. In the middle of the chaos her mother’s hug was safe and comforting. She leaned her head against Gaby’s head and stroked her back.

***

Illya Kuryakin ran away from the house. He couldn’t stay there. His mother had pushed him out of the door and told him to run as far as he could and then stayed inside to give him head start. And now he was finally out of the burning house. And he needed to run, because he had promised his scared mother he would do so. Illya needed to stop to catch his breath. He looked behind him and panted. The glow of the fire had disappeared behind the trees. He didn’t know where he was going but he would figure it out. He only needed to get across the forest first. The temperature dropped, snow started to fall, and it covered his footsteps.

Illya struggled through the shrubbery and across the clearing. Then the trees were all big and dark and after that there were just birch trees. He stopped to lean against the white bark to rest for a little while, before continuing. And finally, when dawn was breaking on the horizon, he could see the forest’s end. Illya stopped on top of a steep hill. There was road below it. Maybe a car would come. He started climbing slowly down the hill. But he was tired, as any eleven year old would be who had been running across the forest for hours. His shoe slipped and he fell. The hill was steep and gravity took him. It was nothing like falling down the stairs. He was rolling down without any control. Illya had just noticed that there were rocks ahead before everything was already gone.

 

**Moscow 1963**

 

Oleg Kuznetsov woke at the phone call in the middle of the night. He grunted something on the phone. It wasn’t really even a word. Nina turned next to him in her sleep.

“We have a problem,” Parkov said in the other end of the line. He didn’t introduced himself, but Oleg recognized his voice.

“What?” he grunted. “What is so big that you need to call me in the middle of the night?”

Parkov took a deep breath on the other end. “Andropov,” he said. “He blew his brains out about two hours ago.”

Oleg huffed. The news didn’t surprise him. Andropov had been heading to the grave a long time now. He had no sympathy towards anybody who poisoned himself with alcohol and then cried about how it ruined his life. “We are lucky to get rid of that bastard,” he said.

“Well, that bastard left quite a shit storm after him,” Parkov informed. “He went and told everything that was bothering him to some reporter. It’ll be all over the news tomorrow.”

Oleg gritted his teeth. This was going to be one hell of a mess.

“I called to let you know. You should brace yourself and think about what you are going to say,” Parkov said.

“About what?” Oleg asked bored.

“Kuryakin,” Parkov said. “He told everything about that mess.”

Oleg slammed the phone down. He should have known that this was one problem that wasn’t going to stay buried.

 

**East Berlin 1963**

 

Napoleon Solo walked through a dingy garage in his smart three-piece suit. He went to the farthest corner of the place and stopped at the raised car. He could see two legs under it.

“Werden sie tee und gebäck anbieten?” he asked.

Gaby appeared from under the car and glared at him. “I’m going to offer you my fist,” she said and crawled up. “What are you doing here, Solo?” she asked and rested her hands on her hips.

“Is that really a nice way to greet an old friend?” Napoleon asked with a little grin on his face. He walked behind Gaby’s desk and sat in her chair. “You can’t be mad anymore. It’s been ages.”

“It’s been five months,” Gaby said sure about it. “And of course I am. I loved that car.”

“You had just gotten that car,” Napoleon reminded. ”There’s no possible way that you could love something that quick.”

“Well, it was a new car,” Gaby huffed then.

“No, it wasn’t,” Napoleon said. “It was a piece of junk. Maybe in a time it could have been fixed to be an adequate car.”

“And now it’s in the bottom of the Spree thanks to Mr. I-just-have-a-small-proposition-easy-job- it’s-not-like-anybody-even-has-a-gun-in-there,” Gaby huffed and crossed her arms on her chest, glaring at Napoleon. They had known each other for two years and Gaby had pretty much regretted everything that she had done with him. And still she somehow always went along with his stupid propositions. It was mainly because he bought her presents and she was bored. “What did you bring me?” Gaby asked, sniffing.

“Something sweet for my sweet,” Napoleon said smoothly and handed a box of chocolates to her. “From Switzerland.”

Gaby huffed a little approving huff and grabbed the box. She opened it, because she wasn’t a very patient person, and took one piece. She could taste the Swiss handicraft. “So, what brought you here?” she asked when her mouth was empty and she had decided that there was no harm in hearing why he was there. She was sure that there was a new stupid plan to make money and get in the situation where somebody threatens to shoot him. Napoleon’s plans somehow always ended up there.

“A few paintings,” Napoleon said, “at the west side of the wall.”

“Did you cross the border only to visit me?” Gaby asked and tilted her head. “I feel like I should be moved by this,” she said sarcastically.

“Now, are you going to make that tea and offer some biscuits?” Napoleon asked impatiently.

Gaby rolled her eyes. When they were drinking tea and eating biscuits moments later she spoke again: “Where are you going to go next to misbehave? Don’t say it’s somewhere warm. I might get upset.”

“Quite the contrary,” Napoleon assured her. “I’m going to Russia.”

Gaby frowned. “What could there possibly be that you want?” she wondered. “A Fabergé egg?”

“A man,” Napoleon said.

“Are you in love?” Gaby smirked.

“No. But this much money, I could be,” Napoleon said. “Seventy thousand dollars, to be exact.”

“I don’t understand. Is some man just giving this money to you?” Gaby asked and sat on the edge of the desk with her tea cup in her hand. She swiped a strand of hair under the scarf on her head.

“No. I need to find a suitable man, take him to Paris, and then a women will give the money to me,” Napoleon said. “Easy job.”

“I know that sentence,” Gaby breathed out. “I have heard that sentence. You said it always so lightly and smiling and then somebody’s car gets driven in to a river, shots are fired, and somebody spends weeks afraid that Stasi will drag her in for questioning.”

“You are exaggerating,” Napoleon said.

“I really am not,” Gaby retorted. “But tell me more anyway. Is some wife looking her husband?”

“Mother and son,” Napoleon corrected. “Quite a nasty case, in fact: some big politician stepped on the wrong toes too many times and the KGB made a quite showy visit to his house. The man was taken, sent to Siberia, and eventually died there. The wife was beaten half senseless. There was a fire. They also tried to take the son, but somehow he managed to escape from the burning house _and_ from the KGB. He was eventually found a few days later; beaten, bruised, and dead. He was buried, and the heavily drugged mother was shipped to relatives in France,” Napoleon told her, and Gaby’s biscuit had stopped halfway to her mouth. “But now, only few months ago some ex KGB operative committed suicide and before that, in some weird moral madness, confessed all sorts of things to a journalist working for a well-known newspaper. It’s a god damn shit storm that hit there. Turns out that they never actually did find the son of the politician and the body they buried is somebody else. This point is, the story is already public; the mother hears about it and orders them to exhume her son’s grave. Now what do you think they find out?”

“It’s the wrong boy,” Gaby guessed and finally took a bite from her biscuit.

“It’s the wrong boy,” Napoleon confirmed happily. ”There was a healed fracture on his leg and the real son hadn’t ever broken his leg. So, the mother is a rich heiress, and now she is offering a hefty sum to whomever brings her son home.”

“But what do you have to do with a case like that?” Gaby wondered. “Surely the boy just goes there by himself.”

“This has been news in Russia for over two months and they still haven’t found the real son,” Napoleon explained. “A few have tried and failed. And I don’t want to be depressing, but the sad fact is that the boy is dead. It’s been eighteen years. If he were alive, he would’ve already found his mother.”

“Eighteen years,” Gaby sighed. “I expected something fresher.”

“But that’s the whole beauty of the case,” Napoleon said thrilled. “It’s a long time. People change, faces change. Everybody can be taught to be anybody.”

”Have I understood this correctly? You are going to forge an entire human being and then con some grieving mother?” Gaby asked.

“It sounds bad when you say it like that,” Napoleon said. “But in a nutshell, yes, that is what I’m doing.”

“That’s a new low, even for you,” Gaby spat and lifted her chin.

“You don’t know if the mother doesn’t get attached to her fake son,” Napoleon pointed out. “And who doesn’t want a rich mother? I feel like everybody wins here.”

Gaby shook her head and frowned. At least this was all happening far away from her so she didn’t get shot.

“And now I’m going to Moscow to find out everything about the family and find somebody who I can train to be Illya Kuryakin,” Napoleon said.

Gaby swallowed her tea too quickly and coughed. “Kuryakin.”

“Yes,” Napoleon nodded.

“Moscow. Eighteen years. Fire,” Gaby repeated.

”Yes,” Napoleon said. ”Why are you repeating my words?”

“I know these people,” Gaby said and smiled a little at the surprise that she actually remembered. “I have met them. I was there, in the fire. I saw him.”

”You have met the real Illya Kuryakin?” Napoleon asked slowly.

“Not really properly met, but I saw him,” Gaby said. “And it was long time ago.”

“Tell me everything,” Napoleon insisted. “How?”

“My mother worked there, maybe a month, in the kitchen,” Gaby explained. “We went to Russia because of my father’s work and then he just left us,” Gaby said and noticed that it still bothered her, after all these years, but she continued: “And so my mother needed to find some work to support us and she worked in a few different kitchens. The last place was their house. I was there maybe five or six times; when my mother couldn’t get a babysitter. Of course I was mostly in the back of the house with the staff, but I was there that night before the fire. There was a party.” The memories started to surface and connect to each other and form a picture in Gaby’s mind; her scratchy dress, the cake, the cat, the boy.

”And?” Napoleon hurried her.

”We were spending the night because the party lasted so long,” Gaby continued. ”There was a fire. Everybody shouted in Russian and I didn’t understand anything.” She bit her lower lip and remembered. “And I returned to the house to get the cat.”

“The cat?” Napoleon asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said. ”I was seven. At least the cat was a living creature. I could have returned to save the cake.”

Napoleon smiled. ”Now, can you skip to the part where there is an actual Illya Kuryakin?”

“He was at the party. Normally he was in boarding school, I think, but he had hit his head and was home to recover. He had a big bandage on his face,” she said, and then laughed.

“What?” Napoleon wanted to know.

“He had fallen down stairs; that’s right,” Gaby said and smiled. “And I thought that it must have looked like somebody doing cartwheels down the stairs.”

“It’s not really that funny if you have ever fallen down the stairs,” Napoleon assured.

“Like I said, I was seven,” Gaby reminded. ”Things are a different kind of funny then.”

“So you have met the boy,” Napoleon muttered. “And the family.”

“Quite sad that he’s dead,” Gaby said sullenly and bit her lower lip again. “He looked like those religious icons. I remember that.”

Napoleon nodded and looked like he was thinking. “Gaby Teller,” he finally sighed, “the plan is now this: we will go to Russia. You have knowledge that could be useful along the way. You know the house and the family and that will make this con believable and perfect.”

Gaby lifted her brows. “To Russia?” she huffed. ”And how do you think that will happen? Do you want me to glide over the wall maybe?”

Napoleon frowned. He had temperately forgotten that important piece of his con was living in a country where you just couldn’t leave like that, even if you wanted to. “Maybe not glide,” he muttered. “I’m not sure yet. But it’s still happening now,” he decided. ”Take what you need, you’re not coming back.”

“Are you serious?” Gaby asked disbelievingly and looked, a little fearfully, around to make sure there wasn’t anybody there. “You are going to get me on the other side?”

“I’m sure it’s already time,” Napoleon said. “I have watched your life here for two years. It’s small and bleak.”

“Well, thanks,” Gaby groused.

“And now we change that,” he said. “We are leaving to the west.”

“I thought that we were going to Russia,” Gaby pointed out.

Napoleon sighed and shook his head. “First there, then west. Don’t take everything so literally.”

Gaby huffed a little and tried to look annoyed. But it was hard, because she wanted to jump for joy. It was completely possible that she would die in the next twenty-four hours, but at least she would die trying to escape. And Gaby was fine with that.

“What happen to the cat?” Napoleon asked suddenly.

”I took it,” Gaby said. ”The house was on fire, the family gone, and nobody cared about him.”

“You stole the cat,” Napoleon said, smiling. He almost winked at her like a crime partner.

“Well, yes,” Gaby confessed. “But I went into a burning house to save it. Nobody else went there. I earned that cat,” Gaby informed him sharply.

“I'm sure you did,” Napoleon nodded and stood up. “Take your things.”

Gaby took a picture from her desk and her Swiss chocolate and they left. She never came back.

***

Gaby thought that in the end it was much less dramatic than she had imagined. All it took was Napoleon to work his forger magic all night and Gaby to not bother him. In the morning Gaby crossed the checkpoint with an American, one brown leather bag and very good fake papers. She looked behind her and regretted that a little, because it would’ve been so much classier to leave without looking back.

“Welcome to the west,” Napoleon said and offered his arm to Gaby. She took it and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Internet says that 70 000 dollars in 1963 would be about 500 000 dollars now.


	2. Courage don't desert me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Picture links:
> 
> [Illya Kuryakin](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139883578900/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsillya)
> 
> [Moscow 1963: The meeting](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139883707875/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsmoscow)

**Belozersk 1963**

 

Illya closed the fish factory door behind him. He planned, like he did so often, that he might not come back. He always did. But maybe now he wouldn’t. He had few changes of clothes in his backpack, some personal things and a little money. It wasn’t everything he owned but the rest was not important. And because he already had it with him, he could just leave. Instead he sat on a bench near the marketplace and rubbed his hands together. They were coarse, made for crude things. He watched people walking by and wondered about their lives. They were all so ordinary looking. Illya would have given everything he had if he could only be normal like them.

It wasn’t only the childhood that was missing from his memory. It was everything else too. He was too tall for people not to notice him. And when they noticed him, they looked and Illya hated when people looked at him. It wasn’t ever a look he wanted. In the orphanage he had quickly learned that if you don’t remember who you are people will notice you in a wrong kind of way. And after that you need to very quickly learn how to defend yourself and hit back. You need to learn to hit first. And it didn’t stop there in the orphanage. Special Forces didn’t soften him.

Illya watched as a mother and little boy crossed the marketplace and gritted his teeth. He didn’t know if he had ever done that. He hadn’t ever held anybody’s hand after the times he could remember but he didn’t know if it had ever happened. Was there ever family that had cared about him? And if there had been why he had been left alone? When he had been younger it had made him sad. Now it made him angry. Every time he thought about it he wanted to break bones and watch somebody bleed. If he was hurting, somebody else could be hurting too. And he hated that he thought like that.

He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned against the bench, frustrated. There was a chill in the air and Illya knew he couldn’t sit there forever. He would have to return to the commune or go somewhere else. Only he didn’t know where. Illya felt ridiculous, but he kind of waited for some sort of sign; something that would convince him that this time he really shouldn’t go back.

He turned his gaze away when a young couple crossed the marketplace. They were seemingly in love. And if something made him more anxious than mothers and children together, it was lovers. Every touch he could see was a reminder how broken he truly was. And how that was something his life was probably always going to be missing.

Illya closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath when he felt the anger rise inside him. He felt his fingers tapping against his arm. He needed to control it. It just wasn’t always that easy. It took a while to dissolve and then there was only disappointment. He had always worked hard to be something other than he was. He had learned English. He had read books when people around him said it was a waste of time. He had systematically tried to mold himself into something bigger than this sad life. And still he was in this life. He didn’t have the money or plans to move on. And maybe even courage. It bothered him most of all, that the problem was that he was scared. Fights never scared him. Blood and bruises or broken bones didn’t scare him. Mostly because they were usually somebody else’s bruises and broken bones. He won so he wasn’t scared. But this maybe was something that made him afraid. He was scared that he would fail.

Illya leaned forward, his arms pressed on his thighs. He kicked, trying to remove the trash that was stuck on his shoe, but it didn’t loosen. He picked it off with his fingers. It was a used train ticket. Illya looked closer and had to squint because the ink was almost worn out. Moscow. He dropped the ticket back on the ground and wondered how much was a train ticket to Moscow. He wasn’t sure. Illya stood up and took his backpack. He would go to the railway station. And if his money was enough for a ticket to Moscow, it would be a sign and he would buy that ticket.

 

**Moscow 1963**

 

Gaby dropped her bag on the floor in some dreary apartment. ”This place is a dump.” She didn’t hide her opinion.

“A short stop before riches of Paris,” Napoleon assured. “Think of those so you’ll get by.”

Gaby rolled her eyes. So far “east” had turned farther east and before Paris they would have to forge an entire human being. Fortunately Napoleon said he had a brilliant plan for that.

“We are doing what?” Gaby asked, face crimped when she leaned against the door frame and watched Napoleon arrange his suits carefully inside a rickety wardrobe. “You want to rent a theater and hold auditions?”

“No,” Napoleon corrected. ”I have already rented the theater and the auditions start tomorrow.”

“Well, at least you are efficient,” Gaby said. ”But isn’t that going to get us attention? Do we really need it?”

”We will say we are making a movie or television program or something like that,” Napoleon said vaguely and waved his hand as if to say that he didn’t worry a bit, everything would work out just fine, nothing could possibly go wrong, no one would be threatened with guns. “We only have the one very bad quality photograph,” Napoleon reminded. “So you need to tell what we are looking for.”

“He was blond and blue eyed,” Gaby said and shrugged her shoulders. ”Serious. Looked like religious icon.”

”Yes, icon.” Napoleon sighed. ”You keep saying that and it really doesn’t mean anything.”

“There isn’t that much to tell,” Gaby said. She pushed herself off the door frame and walked over the shabby carpet. “He had that bandage, so it’s safe to assume that he would have gotten a scar.”

“Which eye?” Napoleon asked.

”Right,” Gaby said after thinking about it. Then she gave a reassuring nod. “Yes, right.”

”How would he look now?” Napoleon asked.

“Thirty years old,” Gaby said, and spread her arms. “How should I know? Probably still blond and blue eyed.” Gaby walked back and forth on the carpet. “His father was tall. Like impressively tall. So presumably he would’ve been tall too.”

”Blond, blue eyed and tall,” Napoleon repeated. “We are so lucky that the war left just those people for us.”

Gaby scowled at him and Napoleon managed to look little bit ashamed. “Sorry. It was inappropriate. No more joking about Aryans.”

Gaby huffed and continued walking, her arms crossed. “So we are just going to watch people and assume that we will find the right man?” Gaby asked. “It could take weeks.”

“One night,” Napoleon said. ”I’m going to say we will find him in one night.”

Gaby huffed again. “I will believe that when I see it.”

***

Gaby leaned her cheek against her palm and watched, almost horrified, the man standing in front of them. He was shortish and already balding, probably over forty.

“Next,” Napoleon said and shook his head.

The next one was tall, yes, but dark haired, and his stubble was so dark that Gaby knew it would look horrible even if they would to dye his hair. A couple of the next were completely wrong. Then there was one potential: brown haired, could’ve been taller, but his face was symmetrical and serious.

“How would you feel if we would carve a scar on your face?” Gaby asked.

“We are not doing that,” Napoleon assured the man. “We can’t do that,” he muttered to Gaby. ”We will use makeup.”

“Real one would look better,” Gaby said.

“Yes,” Napoleon sighed. “But we would have to wait for that to heal. And nobody here is going to let you carve their face.”

Gaby huffed.

“Next,” Napoleon decided.

Gaby, who hadn’t believed they would find anybody this quickly, was annoyingly smug on the way back to the apartment. Napoleon moped.

“I don’t want to be the one to say this,” Gaby smirked. “But I told you so; one night, no man.”

Napoleon huffed. He walked around the apartment frustrated; he hated when plans didn’t go like he wanted them. He opened the kitchen window and breathed some fresh air for a while. He tried to read the newspaper, but it just irritated him. Finally he pulled his coat back on.

“Where are you going?” Gaby asked.

“To steal something,” Napoleon announced. “That always makes everything better.”

Gaby shook her head. She flopped down on her bed. It wasn’t very comfortable. Even her bed in East Berlin had been more comfortable. But for some reason it didn’t bother her that much. She decided to make herself a cup of tea and wait to see if Napoleon stole something nice for her.

***

Illya walked along the dark streets. He was in Moscow and he had left everything behind. But now he had no money, no place to sleep, no plans. He was tired and hungry. Right now buying the train ticket felt like stupidest thing he could have done. And he had done just that. And it made him mad.

He stopped at street corner and watched the people who still moved along the streets. Not that far from him was a couple and Illya turned his face away. He turned it almost immediately back when the women cried. The man was holding her wrists and muttering something Illya couldn’t hear. She was visibly scared and tried to free herself from his grip. Illya’s face tightened. He hated men who treated their women badly. 

“Let her go,” Illya said to the man. He didn’t want to cause any problems. He didn’t want to face  militsa now. He was too tired to explain himself.

“This is none of your business,” the man grunted back and then faced the woman who still tried to get loose. She sniffed.

Illya felt the anger rising again. It made his fingers tap against his thigh. He walked with long steps to the couple. “Let her go,” he ordered.

And the man let her go, but his face just tightened. He shoved the women away; she tripped and fell to the street. He approached Illya. “I said, this is none of your business,” the man grunted and shoved his shoulder.

That was enough. Illya’s fist hit him fast and he fell down. And Illya didn’t stopped hitting. The woman was screaming at him to stop and had forgotten how the man had just moments ago hurt her and all the other times before that. The man managed to hit Illya with something sharp on the face and he could feel his temple sting. The woman screamed and then he could hear the whistles of the  militsa . He had heard them many times before. Illya finally stopped and stood up. He looked frantically around to see from which direction they were coming and then he ran. He didn’t want to explain himself now. He had just walked out from his previous life and the new one wasn’t that great.

Illya ran along the little streets. He could hear the  militsa chasing him. And even if he was faster, he didn’t know where he was or where to turn. Every turn was a possible dead end. He needed some other route away. Illya saw an open window and without a second thought he climbed in.

It was dark and quiet there; he could only hear his own breath catching air. There was nobody home. Somebody had left the window open. Illya thought that was very stupid thing to do in this kind of a neighborhood. The streetlamp gave some dim light in the room, and he could see enough to move around.

And then he wasn’t alone anymore. Someone walked in the kitchen and made a sharp gasp when noticing him.

***

Gaby froze in the middle of the room. The room was quite dark, but she could see enough. There was a man, tall and broad-shouldered. He was wearing a dark turtleneck, a short jacket, and a cap. He looked like he was going to attack her and there was only the kitchen table between them.

Her heart raced and her hand clenched into fists. She cursed Napoleon, who had just gone and left her alone. She jumped when she heard the whistles. She knew what the whistles in East Berlin had meant.

But then he had jumped too, glanced at the open window, which was a clear sign for the  militsa . They would be here any moment now. And instead of attacking her, the man stepped back and looked around like he was searching for another way out. Gaby had to decide if she should yell for help and she had to do it quickly. She could already hear voices in the street. She quickly glanced at him and decided to do what she would hope somebody would do if she were in his shoes. She had been scared enough times by those whistles. Gaby opened the pantry and waved her hand. But the man didn’t move.

“Go,” Gaby hissed in English and the man finally moved. Gaby closed the door after him. She opened the bathroom door quickly, turned on the light, opened the tub faucet and unbuttoned her shirt. Then she only had to turn around to see the first  militsa climbing through the window. She covered herself with her open shirt and gasped. “What are you doing here?” she hissed in English and frowned.

“Looking for a criminal,” the  militsa said drily and with a thick accent. “Is there others?”

“No,” Gaby huffed. ”Do you think that I would take my shirt off if there was a criminal in here?” she asked.

The  militsa glanced at Gaby and she scowled back at him.

“There is nobody here but me,” she said. “Could you please leave so I could take my bath in peace?”

The  militsa talked to each other. Gaby understood some of it. Apparently they were leaving. They were talking about her too. What, she didn’t know. But the judgmental look they were giving her, her open shirt, and the fact that she clearly wasn’t Russian told her that it wasn’t anything too nice. They left through the window and Gaby closed it after them. The she glared at them for a while before closing the curtains.

Illya let himself breathe properly again. He couldn’t believe that a complete stranger had just hidden him from the  militsa and then lied to them. It bothered him that they were calling her a hussy.

Gaby turned the kitchen light on and buttoned the few buttons on her shirt. She grabbed a knife from the sink and hid it behind her. Gaby opened the pantry and took a few steps back. She was a little startled. She had forgotten how tall he was. And maybe he wasn’t standing straight before, but now he was. He squinted in the light.

”Do you speak English?” she asked. He had obviously obeyed her earlier, but it had been clear what she wanted him to do. If Gaby would’ve been in the same situation, she would’ve assumed that any word would be an order to go in.

“Yes,” Illya said. His voice was deep and a little raspy.

Gaby lifted her chin determinedly and squeezed the knife in her hand. “Could you come out?” she asked almost politely.

Illya stepped into the kitchen and the light and closed the door behind him. Gaby bit her lower lip.

“Why they were looking for you?” Gaby asked.

“I… I beat up somebody,” Illya said truthfully. He knew his English, but it was rare that he had ever actually spoken it out loud with somebody. Now his tongue felt stiff and awkward.

Gaby swallowed a little and squeezed the knife harder. The man didn’t exactly look at her; he merely glanced her from the corner of his eye from time to time. And it made her nervous. He seemed anxious and dangerous, like he was going to do something unexpected any second now.

“Thank you,” he said, “for the hiding place.”

Gaby was confused. Now that was unexpected. She didn’t trust him in no means but somehow she doubted that somebody first would thank her and then do something horrible. But maybe her mistake would be to think like that.

“Why did you beat somebody up?” Gaby asked. ”Did you steal something?”

“No,” Illya said and frowned like he would assure he wouldn’t do that. “He had it coming.”

“But why?” Gaby insisted to know.

Illya shifted his weight on his other leg. ”He… treated his woman badly. I had to step in. Then he hit me. So…”

”So you didn’t have any choice?” Gaby suggested sarcastically.

”Yes,” Illya grabbed Gaby’s suggestion. He had no choice.

“Was he badly hurt?” Gaby asked.

Illya shrugged his shoulders little. ”He had soft bones.” He said it like that was an answer.

Gaby snorted and relaxed somewhat. She let the hand fall behind her back. Illya watch her set the knife in the sink. “Your head is bleeding,” Gaby pointed out. “You should let me take a look.” She stepped closer, but Illya stepped away. “I’m not going to hurt you. You are already hurt. Let me look at it.”

Illya let Gaby come closer and take a peek at his temple.

“It doesn’t look too bad, it’s just a scratch. But I will clean it to make sure,” Gaby said. “Sit down.”

“You don’t have to,” Illya assured. ”I will leave.”

“Oh, when the Gestapo is still out there?” Gaby asked and lifted her brows. “I’m sure you know that would be stupid. Sit down. You are making me nervous when you stand there and shift your weight from one leg to the other.”

Illya frowned. But he set his backpack on the floor and sat next to the table. He watched Gaby open the cupboards one by one, then leave to open the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. She came back with some plasters and cotton wool.

“Why don’t you know where the bandages were?” Illya asked and took his cap off. Somehow the way she was reacting to him eased his anxiety. She acted like this was completely normal. Then again, Illya didn’t know, maybe it was to her. Maybe this wasn’t the first time she had hidden somebody who had just climbed through a window away from the  militsa . Maybe she patched strangers’ wounds all the time.

“I don’t live here,” Gaby explained. “Just passing by. “ She took some cotton wool and rubbing alcohol, dampened the cotton wool and stepped close. Illya was seemingly uncomfortable because of her closeness. Gaby pressed the cotton wool to the wound and he jerked and made a little grunt.

“Don’t be a baby,” Gaby sighed. “If it’s stinging it means that it’s working and all the germs are dying,” she said. “Well, that’s what my mother said to me; pretty sure she was lying. But probably it hurts much less than that one did,” Gaby nodded against the big scar right next to his eye. “Where do you even get something that big? Did you get hit by a truck perhaps?”

“I don’t remember,” Illya said. He gritted his teeth because he didn’t want Gaby to see the stinging.

Gaby nodded and cleaned the wound as quickly as she could. She didn’t want to hurt him unnecessarily. She had already decided that he was probably harmless. “I have had my share of those nights. I usually get bruises. Sometimes I’d like to know where they’ve come from, but then I probably am happier not knowing,” Gaby told him lightly and somehow his little frown relaxed her. “But I have never actually bled. Once I had somebody else’s blood on my knuckles. But then you seem like you have too.”

“I was not drunk,” Illya protested.

“Oh,” Gaby said and felt little silly.

“I just don’t remember,” Illya said.

Gaby nodded and threw the bloody cotton wool in the sink. She leaned in front of Illya to take the plaster from the other side of the table. Illya couldn’t help but notice that she was so close and there were only a few buttons buttoned on her shirt, and he could actually see under her blouse. He turned his head away. Gaby attached the plaster on his hairline.

“Ready,” she said.

“Thank you,” Illya said.

Then he looked up to Gaby and in her eyes for the first time and she could see his face properly. His eyes were blue and his eyelashes long. He had blond hair and a serious and symmetrical face. He looked like a religious icon. Gaby’s gaze wandered to the scar by his right eye and she bit her lower lip.

“I can leave some other way from here,” Illya said. “No one will notice me,” he continued and started getting up.

“Don’t,” Gaby said and pressed her hand quickly on his shoulder. “Don’t go yet,” she asked. She couldn’t let him leave. He was just what they were looking for. She needed to make him wait for Napoleon and let Napoleon convince him to stay.

Illya stayed put, even if the situation was a little weird. The woman was watching him and looking thoughtful. She had a nice face; Illya liked that face, and her brown eyes and dark hair. She looked determined and pretty, and strong. Somebody who would hide a complete stranger in a pantry, lie about him to the  militsa and then arm herself with a knife. And her quick touch on his shoulder was nice, soft. Illya wasn’t used to soft.

“I’m Gaby,” she said. ”What’s your name?”

“Illya,” he said and her eyes opened wide for some reason.

“What’s your last name?” Gaby asked and held her breath.

“Ivanov,” Illya said.

“So close.” Gaby breathed out and her straight posture flopped momentarily. But then she straightened herself again. ”You looked like a religious icon,” she said.

Illya nodded, unsure was that actually a compliment. She looked like it was.

“Would you like some tea?” Gaby asked and was already filling the pot. “I’m going to make some tea,” she said. “Are you hungry? I can make you sandwiches.”

Illya noticed that Gaby was smiling a little. Just a little hint that made the corners of her mouth curl upward. He didn’t know why she was smiling. Or why she wanted to make him sandwiches but he was hungry, so he nodded and Gaby nodded back. Then they really didn’t talk more. Gaby made tea for both of them and sandwiches for him. Then she sat on the opposite side of the table and looked very pleased with herself.

When Illya heard the door opening and closing quickly, he tensed up again. He didn’t know somebody else was going to come. But then Gaby’s small hand was already on his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Gaby said and for some reason Illya believed her. Her little hand was reassuring.

“Honey, I’m home,” Napoleon called and Gaby rolled her eyes. “I have money and a gift for you,” he continued as he stepped in the kitchen. Then he noticed Illya and stopped. “Who’s he?”

“What’s my gift?” Gaby asked, interested.

Napoleon looked at Illya little suspiciously, his brows furrowing and his head tilted. He reached his hand towards Gaby. She grabbed a necklace from his fingers and nodded approvingly. She wondered who had lost her emeralds this evening. 

“Introduce yourself to our guest,” Gaby said.

The word “guest” felt nice to Illya.

Napoleon glanced to Gaby, but stretched his hand then to Illya. “Napoleon Solo,” he introduced himself.

And Illya did exactly what Gaby had imagined him to do: he stood up and said his name.

Napoleon grinned and looked Gaby again. “His name is Illya.”

Gaby nodded.

“He is…” Napoleon started and waved toward him, but never finished. Illya looked worried.

”Illya, could you sit?” Gaby asked politely, because she felt like that was the best way with him. And Illya sat down, because the situation was odd and at least sitting down was normal.

“He’s tall, too,” Napoleon said, and shook his head, still not quite believing that they could find somebody exactly like they were looking for. “And that scar. Now why does he have a plaster? Did you try to carve him another one?”

“Of course not,” Gaby protested. “That was somebody else. I just patched him up.”

“Where did you find him?” Napoleon asked. “In a street fight?”

“No, but he came straight from one,” Gaby said, and somehow sounded proud. “He climbed through the window,” she explained, and again looked so very pleased with herself, like she had something to do with that. ”Bet you can’t beat that.”

“No, I can’t,” Napoleon said proudly and wrapped his hand on Gaby’s shoulder and pulled her under his arm. “Very good girl. Very well done. And in the first night. I told you so.”

”And I am ready to confess that I was wrong,” Gaby said. “Someday,” she added. “But not yet today.”

Illya felt like an outsider. He was nervous. They both just stood on the floor and looked at him. Gaby had her little smile and the smartly dressed American had a grin. They were touching but somehow they didn’t seem to be a couple. But then Illya didn’t know that much about couples and how they acted behind closed doors. And everything else spoke for it: they were living together and he had called her honey.

Napoleon stopped staring and noticed the table. “Have you fed him? You are very efficient,” he praised, let her go and sat down. “I should’ve brought you bigger stones.”

“You have time,” Gaby said and admired her emeralds. She had never owned jewels.

“Tell us about you,” Napoleon asked to Illya. “Let’s start from the beginning; where were you born?”

“I…I don’t know,” Illya said bluntly after a hesitation.

“What do you mean?” Gaby asked and her other eyebrow rose a bit.

Illya cleared his throat. He didn’t like talking about his life, especially his past. It made people always look at him suspiciously. He felt like he was defective and broken. And that was how others saw him too. “I don’t remember my childhood,” he said and silently challenged them to act like everybody else. “My first memory is from orphanage. I was ten or eleven. My name was on a patch on my clothes and the name Ivanov is a name they gave me,” he continued. He waited for them to say they didn’t believe him. “I don’t know what my last name is. Maybe even my first name.”

Napoleon took a deep breath through his nose and was quite possibly clutching the table. Gaby’s eyes opened wider than ever. Illya frowned and prepared for what was to come: frowning, suspicious looks, questions ( _What do you mean you don’t remember? You have to remember. How somebody can forgot over ten years of their life? I don’t believe you. You are lying_.).

”He can’t remember his childhood,” Napoleon said and turned to Gaby. “And he’s an orphan.”

Gaby just nodded.

Illya gritted his teeth. He didn’t understand why they hadn’t already started. Why they just didn’t look at him so disappointed like everybody else? Then Gaby turned her pleasant face to him and smiled that little pretty smile of hers.

“You are perfect,” she said. And Illya didn’t think what he should reply to that. No one had ever said anything like that to him. He had heard the complete opposite, but never this.


	3. Horses prance through a silver storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture links:
> 
> [On the train](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139936378190/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticson-the)

**Moscow 1963**

 

Napoleon told the same story he had told Gaby in East Berlin. “And now the mother is looking for her son,” he said, and conveniently forgot to mention about the reward. He already had one person to share it with; he didn’t need two. “And I don’t want to promise you too much but it just might be you. It really can’t be anybody else. I mean, look at you. You do fill all the external characteristics including the scar and your memories only start at the time he disappeared.”

Illya’s brows had been in a disbelieving frown ever since Solo started talking. His arms were crossed on his chest and he glanced at Gaby, who nodded very convincingly. He felt like everything that had been said up to now was plain ridiculous.

“No,” he said. “That is not true.”’

”It could be,” Gaby said. “Don’t you want to find out?”

“No,” Illya repeated. “That is ridiculous.”

“But there’s no harm if we try,” Napoleon replied smoothly. He remembered always to say “we” so that Illya didn’t get the idea that he could do it without them. “She is a mother. I’m sure she can immediately say are you or are you not Illya Kuryakin. And then you would know for sure. It would be foolish to say no to an opportunity like this.”

“And what if you are him?” Gaby asked. “This could be your opportunity to find your family. Maybe even your memories.”

“I understand if you are scared, but –“

“Scared?” Illya huffed irritatedly when Napoleon accidentally poked a sore spot. “I am not scared.”

“I think you should do this,” Gaby said mildly, and shrugged her shoulders.

Illya looked at both of them, annoyed and confused. He took a couple deep breaths. “What would we do if I say yes?” he asked, frowning. He still wasn’t ready to say yes.

Napoleon looked at him seriously, hiding his victorious mood. “We will tell you as much as we can about Illya Kuryakin, well, you. We will make sure you know how to act like a gentleman and we will take you to your mother.”

“In Paris,” Illya made sure. “You would get me out of the country without papers?”

“That’s not a problem,” Napoleon said, a little smugly, and nodded toward Gaby. “I got her from East Germany. Do you think her papers are real?”

Gaby tilted her head and looked at him. Illya didn’t know what to think about these two. He had never encountered anyone like them. Strangely they were also nothing but nice to him. He understood that they would’ve been if they needed his help, but even before that. He had climbed through the window and instead of yelling and chaos his wound had been cleaned and he had been fed. Now they offered to take him out of the country and all the time they treated him like a human. It was the biggest thing; they were looking him in the eyes, they were smiling, or maybe grinning was more accurate. Nobody had shouted nor looked at him despised or scared--maybe Gaby at first in the dark kitchen. But then it had quite quickly turned to determination.

It was clear that they were at least forgers and thieves. Illya didn’t believe that the necklace Solo had given her was bought from anywhere. But then they didn’t seem like the criminals Illya had met before. They looked almost too nice to be criminals. Solo was wearing a blue suit and gold cufflinks and she looked, in her blouse and jeans, like she had bought her clothes from some fashionable store in the west, which she had.

Then Solo seemed to be quite full of himself. He would probably be suave to the point of obnoxious. And Gaby was probably as stubborn as they get when somebody pushed the wrong buttons. But then with them Illya could get out of the country, to start again somewhere else. And even if he had stopped dreaming about a family a very long time ago, the idea of maybe finding one still touched something inside of him.

“But you know, this is a big thing,” Gaby said then. “And it’s lot to think about. And we do understand if you decide to stay here.” Gaby lowered her eyes and glanced to Napoleon. “Maybe we should still continue looking. Maybe the real Illya Kuryakin is somewhere out there.”

Napoleon made a little disappointed nod.

Illya gritted his teeth. The things they were saying were ridiculous. But then again, what if they were right? And what else was he supposed to do?

“I think the Gestapo is already gone,” Gaby suspected and looked at Illya. “The coast is clear.”

Illya swallow thickly and made up his mind. ”Fine,” he said. “I will go with you.”

Gaby tilted her head a little and lifted her chin. There was only the hint of a smile on her lips. But combined with her rising brows, Illya felt like he had just been played like a chess pawn.

“Are you sure?” Napoleon asked smugly. ”It’s a big decision.”

“I said I do it,” Illya said between his teeth. He hated when he needed to repeat himself.

“So,” Gaby sighed and looked at Napoleon. “Paris?”

“Paris,” Napoleon said and winked at her.

***

Illya sat on the train and looked at his traveling companions under his brows. After a night on a couch, a shower with low water pressure, and a surprisingly delicious breakfast, they had boarded the train with very real looking papers. The American again looked smart in his three-piece suit, and was reading a newspaper. The little German was getting comfortable in her jumper and jeans, her legs lifted on the opposite bench. Two bizarre people who had occupied a dingy apartment in a bad neighborhood but who had served mushroom omelets, toast with orange marmalade, and coffee for breakfast.

“Why are we taking a train?” Gaby asked. “Don’t get me wrong, I love trains. I love the feeling of the engine vibration and mechanical pounding, but why we are not flying?”

“They don’t look so closely at the papers on here,” Napoleon said. “Nothing wrong with them, of course; it’s just a precaution. Safer this way.”

Gaby nodded and glanced at Illya. She wasn’t quite sure what she should say to him as an instructor. Presumably something practical like ask him to sit straight. But then again Illya was already sitting very straight.

“You should relax,” she suggested instead. “You look so tense.”

“This is how I am,” Illya said. He wasn’t apologizing, only stating a fact.

“It would look better if you looked more relaxed,” Gaby assured him, “more natural. Not so… stiff.”

“Are you some expert on this?” Illya asked snippily when she was arguing.

“It’s part of my job description,” Gaby claimed and lifted that determined chin of hers. “So you should listen to me.”

“Fine,” Illya said and stayed as he was.

“Fine,” Gaby said little irritated.

“Fine.” Illya sighed because he didn’t like that he was getting told what to do.

“Fine,” Gaby huffed so she could get the last word.

Napoleon glanced at them from behind his newspaper and shook his head. They were acting a little weird. He assumed that they were both nervous and it manifested in this odd, tense energy.

Illya crossed his arms and looked out the window while Russia was flashing quickly by him and started to get left behind. He had never left Russia before even if it never really felt like home. Or if it ever did, he couldn’t remember that. “Do you miss it?” he asked carefully and looked Gaby. Talking to people wasn’t really his forte, especially talking to women. ”East Berlin. Do you miss it?”

“No,” Gaby shook her head. “I miss the people. But then they were all dead so I was already missing them.”

“Who do you miss?” Illya asked, and wasn’t sure if that was too personal.

“My mother,” Gaby answered, and smiled a bit. “And my foster parents,” she continued. “That’s it. There really isn’t anybody else.”

Illya nodded and was as serious as usual.

“Do you miss anybody?” Gaby asked to her turn.

“No one I can remember,” Illya said. Because he did miss, he just didn’t know who. “It did not feel like home.”

“I know that feeling,” Gaby breathed out.

Napoleon folded the newspaper and shook his head again. “I’m going to go to the restaurant car to see if they serve anything remotely drinkable, because you two are depressing me. Do stay here and compere who has had the saddest life,” he said tiredly and left.

Gaby glared after him.

“Are you… a couple?” Illya asked because he still didn’t understand their relationship.

“Me and Napoleon?” Gaby asked and laughed lightly. ”Oh, God, no. No, no, no, no,” she shook her head. “No, no, no, no, no. We really are not.”

“Many no’s,” Illya pointed out.

“We are friends,” Gaby said. “Not really even that; acquaintances. People who happen to be involved because of a coincidence,” she claimed but then wrinkled her face pensively. “Well, maybe we are friends; but nothing more. He is nice enough, charming and easy to look at, but not anybody I would consider to be anything more. I like to think that if I had a boyfriend he wouldn’t have sex with other women and I’m not sure if Napoleon knows how that is physically possible.”

The corners of Illya’s mouth twitched a little and it was the first truly soft expression Gaby had seen in his face.

“We should go with him,” Gaby decided and stood up. “Come on. Let me buy you something that looks even roughly edible; if they sell anything like that.”

***

Napoleon hadn’t reached the restaurant car before there was a fuss in the corridor. Curious, he went closer to see what it was about. He needed only to see the back of the men who were checking passengers’ papers to know what was going on. He turned stealthily back and hurried along the corridor. He saw Gaby and Illya on the way.

“Turn back. Get your stuff. We need to leave now,” he muttered quickly.

“Why?” Gaby asked when Napoleon started to push her gently in the opposite direction and guide them back to their compartment.

“Just take your things and for once do not argue with me,” Napoleon commanded and pulled his bag from the rack.

Illya pulled his backpack down and handed Gaby’s bag to her. They followed Napoleon, who was looking cautious. They walked along the corridor until the passenger cars ended and they reached the baggage car.

“Why are we here?” Gaby asked, displeased.

”KGB is there looking for somebody,” Napoleon said. ”You can spot their operatives miles away in here. They were going through everybody’s papers.”

“Are they looking for us?” Illya asked uncertainly.

”Doubtful,” Napoleon huffed. ”We aren’t that important. And why would they even be looking for us? But still they would go through our papers, and trust me, they _are_ good, but I’m sure not good enough that the KBG doesn’t see them at least a little bit of suspicious.”

“So we travel the rest of the way in here?” Gaby complained, disappointed. It’s not like the compartment was that luxurious, but at least the seats were moderately cushioned and there were windows to see outside. This was a bleak and dim metal box. And she was quite sure they wouldn’t be in Paris any time soon.

“I think we should leave the train at the next station,” Napoleon said.

Gaby sat on a cargo crate and sighed. Illya sat on the crate next to her. They looked at each other, then away again. Gaby shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. Her fingers touched the little paper bag of hard peppermint candies she had bought in West Berlin and had then forgotten because she had been so excited about everything. Now she took it out and offered it to Illya. He looked quickly at Gaby and then the bag and took one. There was a little nod of thanks. They were all quiet just to be safe. Gaby looked at Illya. He appeared to be almost smiling. He looked contented for some reason and almost, well, happy. In the context of their situation in a dim baggage car, it felt odd. Gaby tucked the bag pack in her pocket and rolled the candy from cheek to cheek.

After what felt like an eternity--a boring and somewhat chilly eternity--Napoleon stood up to walk around to stretch his legs. Gaby’s fingers were cold and she rubbed them together. Illya looked at her fingers. He felt like he should offer to warm them. But he didn’t have a chance to even think what to say to her when someone opened the door. Gaby and Illya jumped a little; Napoleon pressed himself against the wall to hide.

There were two conductors at the door. One frowned. “Zayats,” he said.

Gaby glanced at Illya and past him to Napoleon, who pressed his index finger against his lips. She didn’t understand the man, but she could guess what they were saying. “Illya,” Gaby said with a clearly forced smile on her lips. “Could you tell these gentlemen that we were looking for toilets and we accidentally locked ourselves in here?”

The conductors glanced at each other when Illya repeated Gaby’s comment in Russian. They didn’t seem very impressed at the explanation.

“But now that we are out, we would like to return to our compartment,” Gaby said and nodded little to Illya that he should repeat her.

The conductor snorted when Illya spoke, and looked Gaby over from head to toe. Apparently her western clothes didn’t make that big of an impression. Illya’s hands clenched into fists; he didn’t like the look the man was giving them. The conductor who had spoken turned to talk to the other. Gaby noticed that Illya’s fingers were tapping against his thighs. He looked agitated. His whole posture was a little crouched, like he was preparing to attack.

Gaby grabbed Illya’s wrist quickly. “I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to calm down. We don’t need any attention,” she whispered.

The other conductor muttered something and nodded to Gaby, and Illya twitched forward. Gaby grabbed his whole arm and stepped in front of him.

“Illya,” Gaby breathed out. “Calm down.” She had to actually push Illya back, because he was still trying to move forward. He was intense and strong but still Gaby felt like he let her keep him in place.

Illya rarely heard his name spoken out loud. In the last twenty-four hours Gaby had said it probably more times than everybody else put together in a whole year. And even if it now was almost a command, it sounded nice.

The other conductor said something and even Gaby understood that he was mentioning the KGB. But then Napoleon hit them with a shovel he had found. Both of them dropped to the floor and Gaby let go of Illya.

“You are very protective, are you?” Napoleon said and looked at Illya with a little mocking grin on his lips.

“They should not have said that about her,” Illya grunted, still mad.

“I can take care of myself,” Gaby said and swiped at her bangs. “And I didn’t care; I didn’t even understand what they said.”

“They were commenting on your looks,” Illya said tightly, “because of what you are wearing.”

Gaby frowned and looked down at her jeans, jumper and jacket. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” she huffed.

“Women here don’t dress like that,” Illya said bluntly. “It gets attention.”

“I don’t care if all the men in Russia are old fashioned and uptight and are offended by my jeans and can’t handle that I’m a woman and they can see where my legs are,” Gaby announced fiercely, her hands set on her hips. “It’s their problem, not mine.”

“Try to keep the temper down, Red Peril,” Napoleon smirked.

Illya scowled at him and his hands clenched into fists again. The American was getting on his nerves.

“At least they didn’t manage to call for help,” Napoleon muttered. He pulled the other conductor away from the door so he could close it. “We should leave the train immediately.”

“How?” Gaby asked.

Napoleon went to the loading door on the side of the car and tried to yank it open. “Jumping off,” he suggested uncertainly and struggled with the door. “Peril, a little help.”

Illya frowned but went to help anyway. They yanked the door open. The landscape flashed past. The sound of wind was so loud that they needed to shout.

“We can’t jump off at this speed,” Illya yelled.

“It’ll be no time before they find us here,” Napoleon shouted. “If the conductors came here for a specific reason there’s going to be somebody checking on them soon.”

“I knew something like this was going to happen,” Gaby yelled. “I knew from the moment you said this was going to be an easy job. It never is. And now we are going to die. I hope you are happy.”

”We are turning.” Illya cut off Napoleon before he could even start his defense speech and pointed ahead. “Curve that tight the train has to slow down. Or it is going to derail.”

“Are you sure?” Napoleon asked.

”Yes, Cowboy,” Illya insisted. ”I am sure.”

“Get your things,” Napoleon shouted and looked worried. “At least there is shrubbery to break the fall.”

Gaby grabbed her bag and glared at Napoleon. Really she should’ve been angry at herself. She should’ve known that something like this was going to happen when dealing with Napoleon.

And then, like Illya had said, the train slowed down for the curve. Quite a lot actually, but Gaby still wasn’t convinced that she wasn’t going to die. Still, they had to jump. Gaby closed her eyes when she hit the shrubbery and uncontrollably tumbled to the ground. When she stopped she rolled on her back and just lay a little while while the train passed them. She couldn’t believe that they had actually jumped off a moving train. Carefully she stood up and was relieved that all her limbs were working and apparently she wasn’t even bleeding. She was sure to have some bruises but all things considered she was fine. She yanked her shoe from a bush and put it back on her foot.

“Are you okay?” she asked and glanced quickly at her traveling companions. Illya nodded a little, Napoleon shook leaves from his jacket. It was suddenly so quiet when the wind didn’t rush inside of the baggage car anymore. Birds were singing. “I hate trains,” Gaby snarled and brushed hair that had come loose from her ponytail behind her ear. “I’m never going to ride on a train again.”

“I thought you loved trains,” Napoleon muttered.

“Shut up,” Gaby grunted immediately. She remembered that she was angry. “You made me jump off a moving train. This never would’ve happened if we had flown.”

“It’s not my fault that the KGB was in the train,” Napoleon said.

“If it’s not jumping off trains, it’s driving my car into the river or it’s something else,” Gaby scolded. “It’s always something with you. Why can’t things just go smoothly with you?”

“I am trying my best,” Napoleon assured her. “The circumstances just aren’t the best. I didn’t choose to have this happen.”

“This is ridiculous,” Gaby stated.

“Yes,” Illya said, fed up, “this is.”

”And it isn’t exactly helping that there are people with us who can’t control their anger issues,” Napoleon noted.

“Would you really like to see me not controlling myself?” Illya grunted. “I can show you.”

“I’m sure it would be –“

“Don’t drag him into this,” Gaby snapped. “We need him.”

“I can defend myself,” Illya informed her. Somehow Gaby defending him made him feel weak.

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Angry, for trying to help,” Gaby said and rolled her eyes. “I won’t be making that mistake again,” she muttered, and took a deep breath. “Does anybody know where we are?”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. He probably could find out if he bothered to check, but he didn’t feel like it. He felt like being uncooperative.

“Maybe in Lithuania,” Illya said.

“Lithuania,” Gaby hissed. ”That is not the kind of accuracy we need right now. It’s an entire country.”

“It’s not that big,” Napoleon huffed.

“It could be Latvia also,” Illya said apathetically, shrugged his shoulders, and looked away from both of them.

“Great,” Gaby sighed. “So we are in Latvia or Lithuania.” She sighed again, grabbed her bag and started walking down the grassy hill.

“Where are you going?” Napoleon asked.

“I don’t know,” Gaby answered frustrated. “Because I don’t know where I am. But we can’t just stand here either.”

Illya sighed. He just about had enough of this trip. But he lifted his backpack, glanced at Napoleon and started following Gaby down the hill. Napoleon shook his head at both of them but nonetheless followed them. They passed the hill, the meadow below that, and then a little forest before they found a road. There was a creek and a covered bridge. They all sat separately and nobody spoke. Napoleon examined his map, Gaby ate peppermint candy but didn’t offer anybody else any, and Illya rubbed his neck. They were all still annoyed, but also little embarrassed at bickering like children. So it was easier to sit alone and not even look at each other.

“We are in Lithuania,” Napoleon said eventually, “not that far from Poland.”

“What are we going to do?” Gaby asked.

“We’ll wait for some car to drive by and hitch a ride,” Napoleon said. “I’m sure there’s some traffic.”

Gaby stood up to stretch her legs. She didn’t feel like waiting so she started walking along the road. Illya looked after her.

“What now? Are you just going to take off?” Napoleon yelled.

“No,” Gaby yelled back. ”My bag is still there. It’s all I own. I’m going to get us a ride.”

Napoleon snorted. At least now she wouldn’t scowl at him. He glanced at Peril. Possibly he wasn’t as confused as he had thought last night. He had a temper, that was sure. And now when he thought about it, Gaby had said that he had been street fighting before stumbling into their kitchen. So he had a mind of his own. Maybe it wasn’t going to be so easy to tell him what to do, maybe he would actually have to make some effort with this one. And Napoleon hated to make an effort. He liked when things just happened effortlessly.

And now he was alone with the future Illya Kuryakin. Gaby was getting along with him seemingly quite well, so Napoleon really didn’t have to. But she had left.

”We don’t normally fight this much,” Napoleon said and Illya lifted his eyes to him. Solo decided to share a little, bond, grow some trust. “Although this is the longest time we have actually spent together in one go. We clearly are getting on each other’s nerves.”

“This is longest time that I have been dealing with anyone in a long time,” Illya replied. He wanted to sound sarcastic, but it sounded too tepid. His tone said that he wasn’t really proud of that.

“And Gaby likes to let off steam,” Napoleon said. “But then she always comes back and says she’s sorry. Well, no, she doesn’t say that, but she does something relatively nice and that usually is enough.”

Illya nodded.

“We really are nice people,” Napoleon assured.

“Why are you telling me this?” Illya asked.

“Because she is right,” Napoleon said. “We need you. And we shouldn’t act like idiots and drag you into it.”

“I am not a child. I can take care of myself,” Illya said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Napoleon nodded. “But it’s not very professional.”

“I have not known you two for very long,” Illya said, and Napoleon was sure he was being little smug. “But you have not been professional all that much.”

Napoleon made a displeased face and hummed. “Well, it starts now,” he said and grabbed a folder from his bag and threw it to Illya. “That’s your history. Read it. Learn it.”

Illya opened it and stared at Napoleon. ”What is all this?”

“It’s all we know about Illya Kuryakin and his family,” Napoleon said. “It will help when we arrive in Paris if you just don’t shrug your shoulders and say that you don’t really remember anything before the orphanage.”

“I need to learn somebody else’s history,” Illya muttered.

“Your,” Napoleon corrected him. “It’s your history from now on, remember that. You are Illya Kuryakin. Your history, your family. Is that clear?”

Illya didn’t react; he just flipped through the papers.

“And Gaby is also right about you needing to relax a bit,” Napoleon said smugly. “You are too stiff.”

Illya glared at him briefly and returned to the papers. There were documents and pictures. But not any of the faces looked familiar. Not that he had expected them to look familiar. But somewhere deep he found he was little disappointed. Maybe he had after all hoped that he would simply see the faces and remember and then he would have a family and a past. And he wouldn’t just be some freak who missed over a third of his life. He glanced at Napoleon who was adjusting his lapels. He was maybe smug and annoying from time to time, but at least he treated Illya like a human.


	4. And I recall his yellow cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture links:
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> [Traveling](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139991052680/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au)
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> [M/S Tasha](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/139991226025/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsms)

**Liškiava 1963**

 

Gaby walked along the road briskly. She didn’t care how long she would have to walk, she would find a ride. So far not one car had passed her on the quiet country road. But then she saw a little dust cloud on the horizon. She lifted her arm and stuck out her thumb and waited the car to reach her. It drove past, but stopped anyway. Gaby walked towards it and a dark-haired man stepped out.

“English?” Gaby asked even though it was unlikely that people here would speak it. It didn’t surprise her when the man shook his head and chuckled a little. It felt like mocking. The man looked her over from head to toe. Gaby was getting used to it. Every man here seemed to judge her openly. It didn’t annoy her as much it annoyed Illya apparently, but she still didn’t like it.

The man smiled crookedly and Gaby felt very uneasy. When he started to walk around the car to come to her, Gaby glanced quickly around to see if there was anything that she could use for defense. He had a look in his eyes that told Gaby she really should prepare to defend herself, and for a moment that scared her. But she was her own woman and she had done this kind of thing before. She just needed to remind herself of that. She didn’t need anybody there to help her. Maybe some part _wanted_ somebody there to help her, but it was also the part that sometimes reminded her at night how nice it would be to sleep next to somebody. And Gaby tended not to listen to that part. That part had only brought her unhappiness and troubles in the past, and she was unhappy and troubled as it was. She really didn’t need any more of either of those. So Gaby would deal with this on her own.

The man circled her and said a few things that Gaby didn’t understand, but the tone and staring told her everything she needed to know. The man stepped closer and then his hand lifted to her hip and Gaby jerked back. Quickly she faked a smile and made a little light laugh. She needed to play along.

“We should go inside of your car,” Gaby said, even if the man didn’t understand. But it was important to stay calm and carefree. She pointed towards the car and backed slowly toward it, smiling the whole time. Her smile caught the man. Gaby tilted her head a little and hummed. Yes, he thought she was just as loose as her clothes were suggesting. Gaby twirled against the car, waited for the man come closer and bent down seemingly for no reason all, but really grabbed a rock from the ground. When the man touched her butt cheeks, Gaby turned quickly and hit him on the head. The man dropped and Gaby prepared to hit again. But the man just lay there. She lowered her hand and then carefully poked him with her shoe. When he didn’t react Gaby kneeled down and checked his pulse. She sighed from relief when she could feel his heartbeat. She didn’t want to kill him even if he had been little pushy.

Gaby was already getting up when she thought about what would Napoleon do. So she rolled the man on his stomach, took his wallet from his back pocket and emptied it. Then she frowned, lifted his coat a little, and pulled a gun from under his belt. There was a silencer still attached to it. Gaby scowled. Now, if she had known that the man had a gun, she probably wouldn’t have dared to fight him armed only with a rock. But it somehow assured her that he wasn’t that nice of a person, and robbing him didn’t feel that bad. She stood up, climbed into the car, and drove off.

***

Illya read the folder about Illya Kuryakin and sat on the railing of the covered bridge. He lifted his eyes from the papers when he saw a beige car approaching rapidly. Napoleon stood up and the car stopped suddenly and slid against the gravel. Gaby got out, walked to her bag, hurled it into the trunk, and then stopped to look the men who were just staring at her.

“What?” she asked.

“Where did you get the car?” Napoleon asked and smiled a little.

“I’m borrowing it,” Gaby said carelessly, “from an unconscious man,” she continued, shrugged her shoulders, and stepped back in. “I am going to leave you if you don’t get in,” she yelled from inside.

Illya hopped off the railing and they loaded their bags in the trunk.

“Did the man deserve his unconsciousness?” Napoleon asked from the back seat. He liked the back seat; it made him feel important. Important enough to have a chauffeur.

”Well he did grope me, so I’d say yes,” Gaby told them. “And he had this,” she said, and picked the gun from her lap. “So I’m assuming he wasn’t that innocent.”

“Makarov PM,” Illya said. ”KGB and Special Forces use those.”

Gaby frowned. “Are you saying that I punched an agent unconscious with a rock?”

“I do not doubt that you were very efficient, but if he was an operative I think you couldn’t just hit him with a rock,” Illya said doubtfully. “Probably only a criminal.”

“Well, I have his money too,” Gaby confessed. “So now he is a poor criminal with no car or weapon.”

There was a low chuckle in the back seat and Illya glanced there. They had quite loose morals when it came to crime. Illya didn’t really care for all the stealing, but even he was happy to move along rather than sit and wait. Gaby wasn’t shy with the speed and they were moving along briskly.

Gaby noticed a car in the rear view mirror. She was driving fast and it was still gaining on them. “I would say we are being followed,” she said carefully. “But who would follow us?”

Illya lifted his gaze from the papers and Napoleon turned to look out the rear window. The car was gaining and Gaby raised her speed. But she had a small Moskvitš and the more powerful Volga was catching up. It pulled up next to them. There were three men inside and the one sitting in passenger seat had a bloody bruise in his forehead.

“That would be the owner of this car,” Gaby said hastily and slammed the pedal to the floor.

“He’s got a gun,” Napoleon said.

“What?” Gaby gasped and then the car was full of broken glass. Gaby shrieked and slid as down far she could, but she still needed to see the road.

Illya grabbed the gun from Gaby’s lap and fired through the broken window. When the men ducked, he straightened himself, aimed properly, and shot out the front tire. It blew up from the hit; the car swerved but stayed upright, and stopped in the middle of a dust cloud. Gaby pulled herself back upright, looked out the back window, and kept speeding. She glanced at Illya, who had the gun and who also looked out. Gaby was baffled. Everything had started fast, happened fast and, now it was all over just as fast. She was frowning, but Illya looked perfectly calm. Like somebody hadn’t just fired on them, like the car wasn’t full of broken glass, and like the gun in his hand wasn’t still warm.

Gaby took a few deep breaths. “Is everybody okay?” she asked and let the speed drop. Her heart was pounding as she glared at Napoleon. “I said we would get shot, didn’t I?”

Napoleon leaned forward. “Are you accusing me of that?” he asked. “That it was my fault that you stole a car from somebody who would chase us? Because I feel like it was your fault. Peril, back me up, right?”

Illya glanced at Cowboy and then at Gaby, who was frowning at him. “He is right. You did steal the car,” he had to agree.

“Are you friends now?” Gaby asked, annoyed. ”In some sort of cahoots? Great, just great. This was just what I needed,” she huffed.

“I feel like you owe us an apology and thanks,” Napoleon said pertly.

Gaby sighed and stared at the road. She mumbled something.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Napoleon said.

“I’m sorry,” Gaby grunted and Napoleon grinned in the back. Gaby glanced Illya. “Thank you.”

“That was a good shot,” Napoleon said.

Illya just hummed. He gathered the papers that were scattered on the car floor and rearranged them.

Gaby turned her eyes to him when the straight road didn’t need all her focus. “Have you shot before?” she asked, interested.

”Yes,” Illya confessed.

“Did they teach you at the orphanage?” Gaby joked, and then realized that maybe they really had and it wasn’t really joking matter.

“No,” Illya said. “They taught that in the Special Forces.”

”How long were you there?” Gaby asked.

“A while,” Illya said. “And before you ask: yes they sent us straight from the orphanage to the army.”

Gaby wasn’t sure Illya was joking. If anybody else would have said that she would assume that they in fact were joking. But then Illya wasn’t really the joking kind. “How long was a while?” she asked lightly.

”Some years,” Illya said vaguely.

Gaby frowned. “How many is some?” she insisted.

Illya took a deep breath. He usually liked to avoid this conversation too. People didn’t really have any sympathy for soldiers. “Ten years,” he said and looked challengingly at Gaby who glanced him. “I was there ten years.”

“So you are a soldier?” Napoleon said.

“I was,” Illya said and gritted his teeth.

“If you went there when you were eighteen you only left a year ago,” Napoleon counted.

“Yes,” Illya said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Gaby nodding. He glanced to the back and Napoleon looked completely normal. He himself frowned. “You are not bothered by this?” he asked.

Gaby chuckled. ”Napoleon joined the army when he was sixteen,” she told. “Then he became an art thief and con man. I am a defector. I used to work in a chop shop, drove in illegal car races, and when I’m drunk I like to punch people. I just stole a car and got us all shot at,” Gaby continued. “It’s not like we can take the moral high ground with anybody.”

“I’m also a forger,” Napoleon said, like it was important not to forget about it.

“And a gambler and a womanizer,” Gaby listed callously. “And my father was Hitler’s favorite rocket scientist and my uncle was the butcher of Belsen. Happy things.”

“The butcher of Belsen?” Illya asked quietly.

Gaby cleared her throat and regretted saying that. “It’s not like I’m proud of that. You can’t really choose your family.”

Illya looked at Gaby’s profile while she drove. Her face had a tenseness that hadn’t been there before. But then again, they hadn’t talked before about possible Nazi relatives. Illya was pleased, that even if he had been a soldier, at least he hadn’t been there, marching after the war to Germany and taking control of the east by violence. He wouldn’t like to sit next to Gaby knowing that he would’ve been among the people who had made her life so sad.

Before the Polish border they had to desert the car, because the broken windows would bring unwanted attention. Illya was packing the gun in his backpack.

“That is really mine,” Gaby pointed out.

“Can you shoot?” Illya asked.

“No,” Gaby confessed.

Illya nodded. ”You can have it when you can,” he promised and lifted his brows arrogantly, which made Gaby frown and exhale in disgust. Yet inside she kind of liked his newly found confidence.

Napoleon was also surprised that Illya wasn’t simply doing what Gaby told him. Illya had looked at her from the start a little cautiously, but also interested. And now he was growing bold. Point for Illya because of that. Still, Napoleon wasn’t sure if it was something else, or maybe inexperience with women, or maybe the Russian was smitten with his crime partner.

Napoleon couldn’t say about Gaby either. She seemed to like him; they got along. And Napoleon was sure that he wouldn’t ever get Illya to go to Paris without her. He wouldn’t of course tell that to her. She would get cocky and started to look down her nose at him, even if he was taller and it shouldn’t be physically possible. Still she sometimes managed to do that.

 

**Augustów 1963**

 

Gaby glanced over to Napoleon, who napped leaning against the bus window. Illya on her other side was reading the papers Napoleon had given him. They had eaten at a pub, bought some food for the bus ride, and then had taken over the whole back seat, because the bus wasn’t full. There were a few hours of sleep here and there, but really they all waited to get to the coast of Germany and the ship so they could sleep properly. Gaby moved next to Illya and offered peppermint candy to him. She watched how his face softened again.

“Is it the candy or peppermint?” Gaby asked.

Illya looked her. “What do you mean?”

”You look so soft after the candy,” Gaby said. ”Almost happy. I just wondered, is it the sugar or the peppermint?”

Illya pondered a while. “Peppermint,” he said finally. “I like it.”

“Why?” Gaby asked.

”I don’t know,” Illya said. “Why does anybody like anything?”

Gaby hummed a little. “I think it’s something else,” she suspected. ”You almost smiled. When you tasted the peppermint, what do you feel?”

Illya thought about it. ”It just feels good. Safe somehow,” he said, a little hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if that was a stupid thing to say. Gaby smiled slightly and Illya looked at her lips. He was sure she would taste like peppermint. He pushed the thought out of his mind and held the only—bad--photograph they had of about-ten-years-old Illya Kuryakin. “Tell me about him,” Illya asked. “Cowboy says you know everything.”

“He is lying,” Gaby said. ”I don’t know everything. Very little actually.”

“Then tell me very little,” Illya asked and leaned against the back of the bench. “What was he like?”

Gaby cleared her throat and lifted her brows.

Illya didn’t understand at first, but when he did, he nodded and corrected himself: “Me. Tell me what I was like.”

“Serious,” Gaby said and remembered the Illya she had seen years ago at the party. “But the party was boring. Nobody danced,” she pointed out and Illya nodded like he understood her frustration. “You had a bandage on your face. You had fallen down the stairs. I thought that was funny, because I thought that would look like doing a cartwheel down the stairs,” she told him, smiling, and got back a little twitch of the corners of Illya’s mouth. “You looked like a religious icon. I remember because those were in every home in Russia, in my mind at least. And you had blue eyes like them and you were very symmetrical.”

Illya hummed. He tried to hold his feelings inside. He knew he shouldn’t believe, but still he wanted to be the same person Gaby was talking about.

“I imagined that icons were painted all in one sitting and somebody had to be there to model them,” Gaby continued. “And you looked like you could sit that long. I couldn’t. And my cheeks probably were too chubby.”

Illya wanted to close his eyes, but he didn’t. He didn’t want Gaby to see how must he actually wanted to belong somewhere and be somebody real. Not just somebody with a made up last name and no memories of parents.

“There was a melting snowman in the yard,” Gaby remembered. “You had been at boarding school, so you must have built that during the holidays. New Year’s probably.”

“What kind of house it was?” Illya asked.

“Big and scary,” Gaby said. ”But then I was seven. Lots of dark wood panels and stained glass windows. Old, but well kept. There was quite a lot of staff. There were always people even when your parents weren’t there.”

“Did I have pets?” Illya asked.

“Yes,” Gaby smiled and remembered the soft fur on her fingers. “There was a cat.”

“Was it yellow?" Illya asked.

”Yes,” Gaby said and frowned. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Illya answered. ”I guessed.”

“Why yellow?” Gaby asked. “It’s not that common.”

“I like yellow cats,” Illya said and shrugged his shoulders against the bench. “If I would have chosen a cat, I would choose yellow.” He was tired. They hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep since Moscow. The bus was rumbling and it was relaxing. Everything Gaby told him felt like a dream. But Illya didn’t want to close his eyes, because then this dream would end and another one start and those weren’t always pleasant.

Gaby smiled lazily and her eyes blinked slowly. She wanted to let her head slide across the bench onto Illya’s shoulder and close her eyes. His shoulder looked like a good place to take little nap. “See,” Gaby said quietly, “it has to be you.”

Illya hummed again. Gaby was so close that he could smell her skin and hair. He only had to lean forward slightly and he could find out if her lips tasted like peppermint. Illya wasn’t sure when he had started thinking about kissing her. Was he thinking about it already on the train or had it started in the car ride to the Polish border? He should’ve stopped, but in the calm dreamlike moment among the made up memories he kept thinking of her lips and how soft they probably were. And how her warm hand would slide in his nape and her fingers would twine in his hair.

Gaby’s eyes closed slowly.

Illya took a deep breath. He lifted his hand and it hovered near Gaby’s chin. “Gaby,” he muttered sleepy.

“Yes,” she whispered back. She liked the way he said her name.

Illya let his fingers softly brush her chin and he was sure that she smiled. The bus drove over a pot hole and the whole back end rattled and bounced and everybody jerked awake. Gaby opened and closed her eyes a few times as if she was making them work again. Illya straightened his back. He glanced at Gaby. He wasn’t sure if she actually felt his touch or if she just assumed it was dream. Illya crossed his arms on his chest so he wouldn’t try to touch her again.

 

**Moscow 1963**

 

Oleg was tired of reading reports of incompetent operatives and failed assignments. He frowned aggressively. “They didn’t find what they were looking for and in addition there were stowaways who escaped?” he grunted.

“They jumped off the baggage car,” Parkov said. ”They knocked out two conductors.”

“I know this wasn’t our responsibility,” Oleg growled. “But still. There were people escaping from the train under our operatives’ noses? Who were these people?”

Parkov shrugged his shoulders. ”There’s no certain information. Eyewitnesses say that there were two men and a woman. At least one of them is American.”

Oleg threw the papers on the table. ”If it turns out that they were spies, somebody is going to explain how this was completely missed by us,” he growled again. He was angry and agitated. His ulcer was acting up. Everything had been one big mess after Andropov had sung his information to the press and then shot himself. There had been hours of questioning about the Kuryakin case. He didn’t know where the boy was, the one who got away. At least they hadn’t found him yet. Probably he was dead. Oleg hoped he was dead.

He remembered that night: they were supposed to collect the family. And then a routine operation had turned into a humiliation after the boy had vanished. He and Andropov had covered up the situation with some vagrant boy. But then Andropov had told everything. The boy’s grave had been exhumed, everything had come to light. Oleg had of course said that he didn’t know anything about the wrong boy. He had always thought that it was Illya Kuryakin who had been buried.

He couldn’t understand how the boy had slipped through his fingers. He remembered the humiliation when his superiors had made him explain himself. How had he let some child vanish into thin air? How could an experienced operative allow something like that to happen? It was a miracle that he had kept his job. The case had slowed down his career, because every time a promotion was possible, somebody remembered the Kuryakin incident. And over the years Oleg had learned to hate Illya Kuryakin.

 

**Stralsund 1963**

Napoleon threw something soft to Gaby in the small cabin on M/S Tasha. “You can wear that. I’m sure the dancing goes better when you are looking like a girl,” he suspected.

Gaby looked at the dress Napoleon had thrown to her with her other brow lifted. She turned the dress around and waved it a bit as if to see if something was attached to it.

“It’s a dress, it won’t eat you,” Napoleon assured her sarcastically and left.

Gaby stayed behind with her blue dress. She was sure that she would dance just as well with her jeans on as in a dress, but apparently they were really committing to this. And it was equal: Illya didn’t want to dance and Gaby didn’t really care about the dress.

She undressed, left her clothes on the floor, and slip into the dress. It had short sleeves and a wavy skirt. There was traditional embroidery, and little pockets that Gaby actually liked. The skirt’s hem was just above her knees and the fabric rustled softly. She knew that Napoleon would have preferred to dress her in something with an expensive name on the little tag, but apparently this was what Poland had offered to him.

On the little deck the sun was shining its last hour. Fresh air did all of them good after the long trip in the bus. Napoleon sat and read newspapers on the bench by the railing and Illya sat in a deck chair and played chess against himself. He rubbed his lower lip thoughtfully and looked up when Gaby joined them on deck. His gaze stopped on her and his lips parted a little.

”What?” Gaby asked challengingly and set her hands on her hips.

“Nothing,” Illya said quickly and shook his head. “You just…”

“What?”

“Look like a woman,” Illya said, although that wasn’t quite what he meant. It wasn’t like Gaby hadn’t looked like a woman before, but now she was wearing a dress and her legs were bare. Wind was rustling the skirt and her hair in the evening sun.

“Well, I have news for you, my Russian friend,” Gaby sighed a little arrogantly and raised her brows. “I am one.”

“I know,” Illya assured her.

Gaby hummed and Illya looked like he didn’t know what to say next.

“That is so painful to watch. Maybe you should take your flirtation a notch down before somebody loses an eye or something,” Napoleon said and shook his head.

Gaby rolled her eyes and Illya turned back to his chess. She didn’t bother to scowl at Napoleon; she just went to turn on the record player that they had borrowed from the first officer.

“Come on,” Gaby sighed and stood on the deck.

Illya stood up slowly; his face was tight and he looked very uncomfortable. “Why do I need to dance?”

“Because your father was an important politician and your mother is an heiress and you are a gentleman,” Gaby listed. “And gentlemen know how to dance.”

Illya looked worried when Gaby stepped closer and set her hand on his shoulder. She cleared her throat and Illya placed his hand awkwardly on her waist. He hesitated with his other hand but then lifted that as well and Gaby placed her own hand over it. Her hand was small compared to Illya’s, and so warm.

”Ready?” Gaby asked.

Illya shook his head and looked serious.

“We are still going to do this,” Gaby said and lifted her chin. “Left leg,” she reminded and pushed Illya to move.

It was ridiculous. Illya didn’t really want to move and Gaby felt like he was trying to move the wrong leg purposely to frustrate her. They were clumsy and awkward. And Napoleon watching them didn’t help one bit.

“Let the man lead,” Napoleon told Gaby as if she didn’t know what she was doing. She just huffed. “That looks bad,” Napoleon muttered and Illya legs moved even less. ”You are a dancer,” he reminded her. “How hard could it be?”

Illya removed his hand from Gaby and took a step back. He was frustrated and embarrassed. And that, mixed with closeness to Gaby and her warm touch, only made him confused. Then there was the rage that demanded he punch the smirking American overboard. He tried to control it.

Gaby turned to Napoleon. “This would work much better if you don’t intervene,” she said. ”And you don’t even need to sit there and watch judgmentally. Go sit there,” Gaby commanded and pointed to a column at the other end of the deck. “And turn your chair away from us. This is going to go fine without you.”

Napoleon grinned, but went by the column, turned the deck chair and sat. “Is this better?” he asked, his back to them.

“Starting to be,” Gaby said. “It would be better if you moved your chair about ten meters forward.”

“Then I would be in the sea,” Napoleon pointed out. Then he turned to look Gaby over his shoulder. “Funny.”

Gaby smiled and noticed that even Illya’s mouth pointed upwards a tiny bit. She went to the record player, changed to a new waltz, turned the volume up, and returned to Illya. “New try,” she said softly and waited until Illya came to her at his own pace. She slid her hand on his shoulder. He seemed calmer and his hand touched her more naturally.

“Are you a dancer?” Illya asked.

Gaby nodded and pushed Illya to move. It was still clumsy, but less awkward without an audience. “I was. I danced ballet for many years.”

“Why did you stop?” Illya asked, and frowned when their thighs collided when he moved the wrong leg.

“Sometimes ballerinas stop dancing ballet,” Gaby said vaguely. “Life gets in the way. Walls get built.”

Illya nodded. ”Were you good?”

“Of course I was,” Gaby stated, but then smiled. She turned Illya and chuckled when they swayed weirdly. She felt his hands starting to let go of her and she squeezed him harder and pulled him closer. “You can do this,” she assured. “You only need to relax a bit.”

“I am not good at that,” Illya said stiffly.

“I have noticed,” Gaby said. “We’ll go slower,” she instructed and slowed the pace. “It’s dancing. It’s not serious. If you do it wrong, there’s no harm in that. Then we just do it again.”

Illya hummed quietly. Gaby’s attitude helped make it easier.

“Already better,” Gaby said even though they were still bad. But at least Illya seemed more relaxed and his face was softer. Maybe she couldn’t teach him how to dance, but at least they were having a somewhat nice time.

***

Napoleon turned his deck chair sideways and watched Gaby and Peril dancing. If you could call that dancing. They were clumsy together. Peril made them both clumsy. But still Gaby smiled and Peril looked little less tense, almost relaxed.

He was looking at Gaby and the corners of his mouth twitched. And Gaby still lifted her chin determinedly, but her small smile was genuine and the chuckles she made when they were particularly bad were light and easy. Napoleon leaned in the deck chair. Of course. He had had his suspicions before, but now it was clear when he saw then trying to dance and touching; they liked each other. Peril at least watched Gaby with a this soft and tender look that Napoleon hadn’t noticed before. Of course they hadn’t known him that long. And Gaby seemed much less annoyed by him than, for example, Napoleon himself. They softened each other.

Napoleon wasn’t sure if this was a good thing to mix with their con. But he couldn’t say anything to Gaby, because she would get mad. He had to hope that Peril was too awkward to do anything about it and Gaby too stubborn.

Then Gaby chuckled again. They collided clumsily and Peril almost made a real smile, not just move the corners of his mouth. Napoleon shook his head and sighed. Well, fuck.

 


	5. In the dark of the night evil will brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture links:
> 
> [Victoria Vinciguerra](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140052847290/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia)
> 
> [Maison Vinciguerra](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140052976425/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsmaison)

**Stralsund – Le Havre 1963**

 

Gaby changed into her striped pajamas in the small toilet. The con and everything made her anxious and even though she had slept only few bits here and there after Moscow, she felt like sleep probably wasn’t going to come. “I’m not tired anymore,” she muttered as she flopped down on the padded bench. She had offered to sleep there, because she was the shortest and because she probably was just going to stay awake anyway. She felt the engine vibrations through the hull. They made the bench vibrate too. It was just a ghost of a vibration, but it was there, deep and calming. Gaby closed her eyes and rolled on her back so she could feel it in her whole body. Oh, how she loved the deep engine rumble.

Napoleon opened two rolled-up blankets. “Which one do you want?” he asked and turned to Gaby.

Gaby lay on her back. Her head was tilted slightly against the bench; one hand was bent on the pillow next to her head and the other rested on her stomach, her legs were a little bent. Her breathing was deep and steady, eyes closed, and her face soft.

“Didn’t she just say she wasn’t tired anymore?” Napoleon asked, frowning, and turned to Illya. “It was twenty seconds ago. And now she is asleep.”

Illya shrugged his shoulders and sat on the bottom bunk. “It is probably the engines,” he said. When Napoleon shook his head like he didn’t understand, Illya continued: “She said she likes engine tremble and mechanical pounding. I can feel the engines through the floor so she can feel them through the bench. That is probably why she fell asleep.”

“When did she tell you that?” Napoleon asked.

”On the train,” Illya said.

Napoleon went and threw a blanket over Gaby. “I don’t really wonder that you remembered something she had said.”

“What you are talking about?” Illya asked, frowning.

“She makes you soft,” Napoleon pointed out and leaned against the ladder. “You should be careful or soon you won’t be serious and tense any more.” He smirked at Illya’s serious and tense expression and climbed onto the top bunk.

Illya lay down and Napoleon switched the lights off. Illya felt the ship rocking along the waves that had grown bigger. He also liked the deep rumble of the engines. When had he slept more than a moment? In Moscow? It felt like ages ago.

He really didn’t feel that he would go soft because he was dealing with a woman. Not even Gaby. It would take much more than that to break the wall he had built around himself. He was sure. He knew it. He also knew that Gaby’s feet weren’t under the blanket, because Cowboy had thrown the blanket on her carelessly. Her toenails were painted pink. And now her toes would be cold during the night.

Illya got up and pulled the blanket properly on top on her so her feet were covered too. Gaby mumbled something quietly in her sleep and rubbed her cheek against the pillow. For some reason it made Illya’s mouth twitch a little. He returned to his bunk and closed his eyes.

“Soft,” Napoleon yawned and turned on his side.

Illya scowled at him through the bottom of the bunk.

***

Illya jolted awake in panic. It was dark; somewhere in the distance he heard thunder, and the ship was rocking noticeably. He was sweaty and anxious. His heart was racing in his chest so hard that it was almost hurting. He had a sharp pain in his temples, the same pain that he always had after nightmares. Illya never remembered those properly, only a few images and the feelings they left behind, petrifying fear and anger he wanted to take out on somebody. His whole body shook and he felt so anxious that he almost wanted to throw up. With difficulty Illya crawled up. He needed to leave the cabin and other people. He could crush anybody right now.

He opened the door and walked along the corridor to the deck. The sea was rough, the wind was howling, and there was a light drizzle in the air. His toes were getting cold against the wet deck, but Illya still went to the railing, grabbed it, closed his eyes and breathed the salty air. Waves were hitting the sides of the ship and drops splattered on his face, arms and undershirt. He was panting more than breathing and clutching the railing so hard that his hands were aching. He felt like he could grab it so hard his joints would eventually snap and he would break his own hands.

The salty water spattered again and for a moment Illya could see all the high waves on the horizon when lightning illuminated the sky. He thought how much easier it would be if he leaned forward, let go of the railing and let the black ocean swallow him. It would be all over then. No more nightmares, no more anxiety, no loneliness, anger, fear, yearning, nothing.

***

Gaby woke when the ship rocked and the door that Illya had left open slammed closed. Napoleon mumbled, but didn’t seem to wake.  She sat up looked around to remember where she was. She frowned when she noticed that the bottom bunk was empty. Gaby stood up to look out at the small round window. There was a storm and she didn’t really like that Illya wasn’t in the cabin. She crept across the cabin floor and sneaked out. There was dark everywhere, but lightning illuminated the corridor. The door to the deck was still open. The rain fell almost horizontally. She took a few steps on the cold and wet wood. Gaby wanted to return inside where it was warm and dry, but she also wanted to find Illya.

The deck was slippery and Gaby feared that she would slip and just slide straight to the ocean, but when she saw Illya she still ran a few steps.

“Illya,” Gaby breathed out when she reached him. “Why you are here? The weather is horrible.”

Illya startled at Gaby’s voice and his whole body tensed and prepared for attack. But as soon as he realized that it was Gaby, in her striped pajamas, her hair unbound and blowing in the wind, his body relaxed.

“Illya,” Gaby said again when he stood there all tense and turning his head away. She could see in his profile that he was gritting his teeth. His hands were holding the railing so hard that it looked painful. His knuckles were white and his hands shaking. Gaby hesitated a moment, but then set her hand gently over his and it flinched when their skin touched. She still didn’t take her hand away. “Please let go. That looks painful.”

Illya took a shaky breath, but then his hand relaxed and his fingers stopped squeezing the railing.

“The other one,” Gaby coaxed and when his hand detached from the railing she slid her hand on his wrist and pulled gently. “Let’s go under the canopy away from the rain.”

And Illya followed her because he was too anxious to do anything else. It was easy to obey Gaby’s soft commands, her warm hand on his wrist. He followed her under the canopy and sat down on the pile of deck chairs and suddenly Gaby was the one who was taller.

“Are you okay?” Gaby asked. Illya looked so tense and angry and like he was terrified, lost and alone.

“Nightmare,” Illya managed to say. His breathing was still fast, his heart still pounding. “Faces,” he said, even though Gaby didn’t ask. He had never told anybody. ”Black faces. Twisted and ugly. There is blood and this orange glow. And screams. Somebody screams and I don’t know who.”

Gaby set a hand carefully on Illya’s shoulder. He glanced at it and then at Gaby like he didn’t understand that Gaby was trying to comfort him.

“Can I help somehow?” Gaby asked. “Do you need anything?”

Illya shook his head.

“Glass of water?” Gaby still asked. ”Vodka? A hug?”

Illya stared at Gaby and his face made Gaby want to cry. He looked like he didn’t even recognize the word. Gaby wondered had anybody hugged him in the orphanage, let alone after that. So she stepped slowly closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. She pulled him closer and his cheek pressed against her collarbone. Her other hand pressed behind his head and then she just stood there.

Illya was at first uncomfortable with the sudden closeness when he was anxious. In the last few days he had been touched more than he could remember somebody ever touching him. Soft touches like this one, Gaby near him, her arms around his shoulders. It was comforting and yet strange. He felt like he didn’t even know how to do it. He didn’t know if he had ever known. When he got used to Gaby’s hug and it didn’t feel so strange anymore he slowly lifted his hand first to Gaby’s waist and then awkwardly wrapped his arms around her. He sighed against Gaby’s collarbone.

They stayed still until Gaby shivered. Her feet were freezing and the wind was chilly. Gaby parted away from Illya and he pulled his arms to himself quickly like he was waiting for when he would have to do that. “Let’s go inside before we both catch cold.”

Illya stood up and his face tightened when normality started again. Gaby wondered what his face had looked like when he had leaned his head against her. Had it been relaxed, or sad, or merely relieved that somebody was touching him? Gaby felt like that was what he needed, somebody being close, being gentle, and giving some physical contact. So when they returned to the cabin, Gaby grabbed her pillow and went to him.

Illya watched, confused when Gaby climbed in his bunk and under his blanket. She set her pillow next to his, lay down, opened her arms and gestured for him to get closer. And Illya didn’t want to say no to her warmth if he had a chance of that. He pressed his face into the crook of Gaby’s neck and slid his arm over her. Gaby again wrapped a hand around his head and the other over his shoulders. Gaby hugging him was more closeness than ever. Her cheek pressed against his head. Illya felt like his body was finally starting to relax and he sighed long and deep in the dark. He didn’t know why Gaby let him do this or why she didn’t see his flaws, why she smiled at him and was so kind. He was just happy that somebody did this.

Illya could hear her heartbeat through her chest, feel her movements when she breathed. Gaby was warm and safe. He wrapped one hand around her waist and tucked the other under her. And she let him. Instead of pulling away she corrected her posture, her body pressing seamlessly against his, her bent knee resting on his hip and a warm hand on his nape.

***

Napoleon climbed down still half asleep and stopped to lean against the ladder. He shook his head but really didn’t bother stressing. Of course Gaby and Peril were in the same bed. Gaby’s cheek was against Illya’s forehead and both arms wrapped around his shoulders. Illya’s hand was wrapped over Gaby and his face was almost pressed against her neck. They both looked peaceful. Napoleon sighed and went to the toilet. He didn’t really care what the two of them were doing as long as he was getting his reward money.

 

**Paris 1963**

 

Gaby stopped the car on a prestigious street. The grand house was light yellow stone.

“Who is this woman?” Illya asked tensely. Napoleon had only now mentioned that they would meet someone else before meeting Mrs. Kuryakin.

“Victoria Vinciguerra,” Napoleon said. “She is your mother’s cousin.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before?” Gaby was annoyed and climbed out of the car they had rented. It wouldn’t look very good if they had stolen one and then got caught.

“Because it would have only caused nervousness and nagging,” Napoleon said. “And I would’ve had to make a long speech about how he is going to manage just fine with one interview before we can meet his mother.”

“What makes you think that you don’t have to make that speech now?” Gaby demanded.

“Because we are going to be late,” Napoleon said with a cunning grin and started walking towards the front door. “Hat,” he reminded Illya when he went.

Gaby sighed after him. Illya took his cap off and threw it back in the car. Gaby glanced at him.

“It’s going to go fine. You know everything,” she reassured him, smiled a little, took hold of his wrist, and pulled him along.

***

Victoria Vinciguerra got up from a powder blue velvet divan. She was slow, tall and blond and reminded Napoleon of a snow leopard. She extended her long arm gracefully and still somehow lazily to Napoleon who pressed a kiss to it. She served martinis in her stylish and modern drawing room. Gaby closed her eyes and enjoyed the sharp taste of gin. She didn’t really take part in the conversation. Napoleon was trying to charm the pants off the hostess and Illya gave short answers.

“That is a nasty looking scar you have there,” Victoria took a notice. “Where did you get that?”

“I fell down the stairs. In a boarding school,” Illya told and wasn’t very comfortable. It wasn’t his memory, only something Gaby had told him. He sipped his martini merely to be polite.

Gaby stood and wandered around the room slowly. She admired Victoria’s collection of Murano glass and sipped her drink. When there were maybe two sips left a man in a sharp suit came to her and refilled her glass from a pitcher. Gaby’s jaw almost dropped; it was the classiest thing she had ever encountered.

Illya rubbed his wrist. He could still almost feel Gaby’s hand around it when she had pulled him inside. It felt strangely familiar.

“Do tell,” Victoria said slowly and turned her face from Napoleon to Illya so that her big pearl earrings swung, “how did you got out from the house?”

Napoleon face stayed as it was, maybe little twitch in his brows. Gaby wrinkled her whole face because she was safely standing with her back to the others. She took a big sip.

“I…” Illya started and frowned. ”I left through a door,” he said uncertainly.

Victoria’s eyebrow rose. That was the vaguest answer she had heard yet.

“Cellar door maybe,” Illya suddenly continued. “There were jars and bottles, so it must have been a cellar,” he told her and rubbed his wrist. He could almost see the place. And there was something else too. “There was a girl.”

Gaby looked down as she listened.

“She sat on the stairs and looked at me,” Illya went on. His face looked like he was trying hard to remember something that felt unreal. “Then everything was on fire. And she took my wrist,” Illya told. And suddenly it felt so real, the touch on his wrist, the heat of the fire.

Gaby didn’t dare to look at Illya. Instead she finished her drink in one go, set the glass on the white marble mantelpiece, and slipped in the dark garden through an open French window.

Victoria made an approving hum.

“Maybe we should meet Mrs. Kuryakin,” Napoleon suggested and sipped his drink.

Victoria hummed lazily again and pouted her pink lips. “That is not possible, I’m afraid.”

“Excuse me?” Napoleon frowned.

“Yagoda isn’t meeting anybody regarding to this issue anymore,” Victoria said. “She has already met several imposters and she has had enough.”

“But we are not imposters,” Napoleon said and smiled encouragingly. “I’m sure you can see that.”

Victoria stood up. Napoleon glanced to Illya, who was frowning. That didn’t really say anything; he seemed to always look like that. He stood up quickly and followed Victoria who wandered in the room. He mimicked her movements, trying to build trust, seduce a little.

“I’m sure you can think of some way for us to meet her,” Napoleon persuaded. “Clever girl like you must know some place where she is going to be at a certain time.”

Victoria turned around quickly and her earrings swung again. “Are you flattering me, Mr. Solo?”

“I wouldn’t dream of anything like that,” Napoleon grinned. “You are too intelligent and will see right through that. I will ask directly: Is there some place where she is going to be?”

Victoria gazed over Napoleon slowly from head to toe. There was nothing wrong with him. He was pleasing to see. And she was bored. Maybe she should just help these mostly poorly dressed creatures and maybe have some fun while doing it.

“We do go to see the Bolshoi every time they are in town,” Victoria said. “As they are tomorrow night.”

“Really?” Napoleon asked softly.

“Yes,” Victoria replied.

“Now that is funny coincidence,” Napoleon remark. “Because we too are going to see the Bolshoi tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll meet there.”

Victoria pouted her lips and glanced at the man who allegedly was Illya Kuryakin and then the girl standing in the garden near the fountain. “They can’t come looking like that. We are in Paris. This is the capital of fashion.”

”Oh, I’ll make sure that they are presentable tomorrow,” Napoleon assured her.

“I can arrange that,” Victoria said. “I’m bored and I do enjoy arranging things.”

“I believe that. You seem the type. But tell me, is somebody making sure you are arranged?” he asked smoothly.

Victoria sighed, bored, and returned to lounge on the divan. “Well, I do have a husband.”

Napoleon grinned. “That didn’t really answer the question. You may have a husband but that doesn’t mean that you are properly arranged. I can help you with that.”

Victoria hummed a little and pouted lightly. Then there was cat-like smile on her lips. She lifted her glass and even though it was still half full, somebody came and filled it.

Napoleon glanced at Illya, who was watching him, an unbelieving frown on his face. Napoleon grinned smugly and Illya rolled his eyes and shook his head.

***

Gaby sat on the loveseat right outside the light glowing from the windows. She leaned against the back and bit her lower lip. She hadn’t told Illya about how she had helped the boy out. She hadn’t told that to Napoleon; it wasn’t written in the papers. It wasn’t anywhere else other than her own memories and still Illya had known it. Gaby looked through the windows. She couldn’t see Illya but she knew he was there, in his turtleneck and suede jacket, looking serious and sitting straight like a religious icon. Like he had been eighteen years ago. Gaby didn’t doubt that he was the same Illya. He could remember things she hadn’t told him. He had to be the one.

Gaby shook her head and couldn’t believe it; they had actually found the real Illya Kuryakin. No, she corrected, they hadn’t found him. Illya had found them. They had merely delivered him to Paris. Gaby let go of her lip when Illya stepped outside. He walked to her in his long stride and sat next to her.

”We are going to go a ballet tomorrow,” he said. “We are going to meet her there.”

Gaby nodded.

“And shopping,” Illya sighed. ”Because we,” he said and glanced at Gaby, who smiled a bit, “are not filling her high expectations,” Illya nodded against the house.

“This is Paris, after all,” Gaby reminded. “I’m sure even the hobos are wearing Chanel here.”

The corners of his mouth twitched.

“Can I guess?” Gaby said. “Napoleon took something she said and turned it into a metaphor of sex and repeated it until it was weird?”

Illya nodded and then frowned. “Still it worked.”

Gaby chuckled. ”I don’t know how he does that.”

“Why it is not working on you?” Illya asked. He was rubbing his wrist.

Gaby shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Maybe I know him too well. We met when he ran in front of my car and I nearly hit him. He was wearing only trousers and a tie and when I had to pull over, somebody fired towards us. Then he just forcefully entered my car. It’s hard to take anybody really seriously after that or consider his flirting anything but a little ridiculous,” Gaby told him, smiling.

Illya hummed and smiled a bit too. “But he must have tried.”

“Of course,” Gaby said. “But I think only as a joke. I think it works the other way around too; I think that he is slightly ridiculous and he probably thinks that I am too commanding or annoying or stubborn or something. You would have to ask him.”

Illya nodded. He was happy that Gaby thought Napoleon was slightly ridiculous. Although he didn’t know was climbing somebody’s window and making the militsa come to the apartment any better as a first impression. Still, it must have been. He was fully clothed after all.

“Why did he have no shirt?” Illya asked.

”He had lost it in a card came in some dingy illegal game house. Apparently it was very high quality shirt. Still, he had pockets full of jewelry. That is why he got shot at,” Gaby said and frowned then. “That is why _we_ got shot at.”

“If everything he suggests ends up with shooting, why do you go with him?” Illya asked.

“When he decided to help me out, he said that my life was small and bleak,” she sighed. “And he was right. If not, then I would have said long ago no to him, and ordered him to leave and never come back. Obviously I did that anyway, but I didn’t really mean it. And I’m happy that he didn’t obey,” Gaby continued. “Without him I would’ve been very lonely.”

Illya nodded understanding.

Gaby turned to him. ”I’m sorry that you were lonely,” she whispered.

Illya turned his face to Gaby. ”I am not anymore.”

Gaby wanted to kiss him. And she really couldn’t think of any reason right then why she shouldn’t. So she leaned closer to test the waters.

Illya held his breath. He was sure Gaby was coming closer. Her gaze wandered over his face and stopped for a time on his lips. Illya bent his head down a little, closer to her. His lips parted lightly and his heart started to pound faster. He was going to kiss her, like he had wanted to kiss her in the bus.

“Great news,” Napoleon announced as he marched outside. Gaby and Illya jerked away from each other. “We have been invited to stay.”

”Yes,” Victoria said as she walked along the stone patio. “The west wing is empty. You won’t be in anybody’s way in there.”

“Thank you,” Gaby said with a tremble in her voice. Sure, Victoria had offered them accommodation, which was nice. But somehow she had managed to make it sound like an insult. Gaby decided to steal something from her. Nothing big, not her Murano glass or anything like that. But if she had her own bathroom, like she probably would have because this was that kind of house, she would steal all the bath products. That’ll show her.

***

Gaby flopped on the bed. She finally believed Napoleon about the riches of Paris. The bed was wide and soft. She kicked her shoes off and climbed to stand on the bed. Then she jumped a few times, tried to reach the ceiling but it was too high. Gaby jumped to the floor and opened drawers and cabinets. She found a collection of bottles, took the vodka, and sipped straight from the bottle. She wandered to the bathroom, grabbed all the lotions and soaps from the counter into her skirt and carried those to her bag. Then she sipped more of the vodka that was still in her hand. Gaby turned the radio on and searched for a station playing something she could dance to. She sipped again from the bottle and danced. The carpet was so soft under her feet and the vodka smoothed everything even more. She stopped when there was a knock at the door. She hid the bottle behind her back and peeked out to see who was on the other side.

“I thought that I was causing too much problems already,” she said, and let Illya in.

“Why?” he asked. “What you have done?”

Gaby climbed back to the bed to stand. “Jumped on her expensive bed,” she told him and Illya looked amused. “And drank her vodka,” Gaby continued and sipped from the bottle. “And I stole bath products,” she confessed and pointed at her open bag. “Most of them. Some I dropped on the floor. But I’m pretty sure she is paying for somebody to pick it up tomorrow on my behalf.”

“She probably is,” Illya agreed. He took the gun out and set it on the dresser. “I brought this back. You don’t have to shoot anybody now so I feel it is safe. And you only have a few bullets,” he said. “Don’t shoot until you know how,” he suggested.

Gaby laughed and reached out to Illya. “Come. Come jump with me.”

“I am not sure it that is a good idea,” Illya said warily.

“Don’t be boring, Kuryakin,” Gaby huffed and reached until she could grab his wrist and pulled him closer.

Illya had to decide if he would take his hand from Gaby’s grip, fall on the bed, or climb there to stand with her. He climbed on the bed. Standing there was shaky when there were two of them. The springs moved at a different pace. Gaby jumped and they both had to correct their balance. She took hold of Illya’s shoulder. He seemed sturdier than she was. Gaby sipped from the bottle and offered the bottle to him. He was going to say no, but then Gaby’s lips had just been on the bottle so he took it and sipped. Then Gaby jumped again. They tottered, the vodka splashed around, and Gaby laughed.

“What are you doing?” Napoleon asked from the door, annoyed, and switched the radio off.

“What do mean?” Gaby asked seriously, like she didn’t understand what Napoleon was talking about.

“The time is God knows what and you two are what… jumping on the bed?” he questioned.

“She was,” Illya pointed out seriously and Gaby chuckled.

“We have an important day tomorrow,” Napoleon reminded them. “I feel like everybody would benefit from a good night’s sleep.”

“Napoleon Solo,” Gaby sighed. “Would you have believed that you’d one day be the one asking people to stop having fun and go to sleep?”

Illya had to try to keep from smiling. Napoleon frowned and looked like he was ruminating about what Gaby had said.

“I don’t care what you do,” he finally announced. “Just do it quietly. And tomorrow is still important, so maybe go easy on the vodka.” Then he looked displeased because he really was the one saying those things out loud instead of jumping on the bed and drinking vodka with them. He took Gaby’s radio with him so she couldn’t turn it on anymore and left.

A laugh burst out from Gaby and she took the vodka from Illya. She moved her feet on the soft bed, waved and grabbed Illya’s shoulder for balance. He took hold of her waist so she didn’t fall. And then they were again just the two of them, close, like in the garden.

But the situation was different. And although Gaby was pretty and smiling and her cheeks were all flushed, she was also drunk. And Illya didn’t want to take advantage of that. Not even if she was really warm against his hands and his chest when she leaned closer. And even if she looked at him, head a little tilted, lips slightly parted, eyes all soft. Illya didn’t have to do anything more than bend his head down and their lips would’ve touched. But he didn’t want to do that. He did want to kiss her, but he wanted to kiss her knowing that Gaby really wanted that too and it wasn’t just because she was drunk. He stepped off the bed.

Gaby huffed. She had drunk enough to not hide her emotions. And she was disappointed; she lowered her gaze and frowned.

“He is right,” Illya said, feeling awkward. “Even if jumping on the bed would be nicer.”

Gaby looked at him. “Would you take the bedspread away?” she asked and handed the open bottle to Illya.

He pushed the bedspread away and when he was under Gaby, she jumped and he yanked it away. Gaby let herself just crash on the bed and made the springs squeak.

“Are you going to sleep in your dress?” Illya asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said firmly. ”This is my cheap Polish dress. I’m sure she is going to burn it tomorrow or something, so I going to enjoy it till then.”

Illya nodded and went to the door. “Good night, little chop shop girl,” he said. It was easier say things like that when she wasn’t sober.

Gaby hummed. “Good night, Illya Kuryakin,” she whispered. Her eyes were already closed and she didn’t see Illya smiling at her.

 


	6. Paris holds the key to l'amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture links:
> 
> [Yagoda Kuryakin](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140168192010/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsyagoda)
> 
> [Paris 1963: A day out](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140168348625/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsparis)
> 
> [The Palais Garnier](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140168513235/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsthe)

**Paris 1963**

 

Illya tightened his tie in front of a mirror in Chanel’s fitting rooms. He actually liked dressing well. They had already been to Dior and Cardin. In every place the clothes were sent straight from the store to Victoria’s house. At Dior Gaby had still had a dubious expression on her face, but now she just had accepted that this was how people who shopped at Chanel worked.

“I’m not even looking at the price tags anymore,” Gaby said when she walked behind the curtain in her high-heeled shoes. “The money no longer means anything when clothes cost more than cars.”

Illya looked at her and Gaby twirled for him. She could’ve said she liked doing that, but really she was doing it for him. “Better than the previous?”

“That is nice,” Illya said when he looked at Gaby in her canary yellow dress. She had white sunglasses on top of her head. “But the white and coral was better.” The best thing about shopping in expensive boutiques was watching Gaby try the dresses on; she looked beautiful in every single one.

”Really?” she asked.

Illya nodded slightly and lifted his brows convincingly. Gaby tried not to smile and lifted her chin a  little. Illya looked good in his suit.

“Does it fit?” Napoleon asked and came to look.

“Yes,” Gaby said.

“This one is better,” Napoleon nodded.

Illya frowned. “No, the previous.”

Napoleon glance him under his brows. ”No, this one.”

Illya shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the mirror. “Previous,” he muttered quietly.

Napoleon sighed and shook his head. ”You come practically straight from the fish factory,” he reminded. “What makes you the authority on designer clothes?”

“I make it my business to know,” Illya said bluntly. “And I have eyes.”

“Are you serious?” he asked and turned to Gaby. “Is he being serious?”

“Probably,” Gaby said. ”He does have eyes.”

Illya looked at her reflection in the mirror and smiled his tiny smile.

Napoleon sighed again. He turned to the saleswoman who walked towards them. ”His suit and the two dresses she tried on,” Napoleon told. “And the sunglasses,” he added when he noticed them on Gaby’s head. She lifted her hand to touch them as if she didn’t remember that they were there. “They are leaving those clothes on, sent all the rest. Did you get the address already? And cut all the tags off them.”

When Gaby stepped out a while later where everybody else was already waiting she was wearing the dress with a white bottom and coral top and Napoleon rolled his eyes at her.

“Is this how it goes from now on?” he asked. “I pay and he chooses.” He nodded towards Illya.

“If he’s right,” Gaby said lightly and put her sunglasses on.

Napoleon huffed and returned to Victoria. Illya smiled and offered his arm to Gaby. She smiled back and took his arm. The sun was shining and her feet felt light on the streets of Paris.

***

Victoria took them do all the things that other tourists were doing; they had coffee in a street cafe, they went to the Eiffel tower, had drinks at Moulin Rouge, saw the Mona Lisa, and enjoyed a late lunch somewhere with white tablecloths and crystal glasses. When Gaby returned from the ladies’ room she bumped into Napoleon.

“Is he ready for tonight?” he asked and nodded towards the table where Illya seemed to be saying something to Victoria.

“Yes,” Gaby said.

Napoleon nodded and looked at the table. ”We did well. He plays his part well. He looks like he belongs here.”

Gaby could see that he was right. Illya did play his part well. He suited his suit, Dior, and the crystal glass in his hand. But then he was supposed to. And that made Gaby happy and yet somehow sad. Maybe it was because now he truly knew that this was the end of the journey because he was the real Illya Kuryakin. Maybe she had hoped somewhere deep inside that the journey didn’t stop here. But now his mother would recognize him. Illya had found his place and family. And he didn’t need anybody helping him anymore.

They returned the table just when the food came. Gaby sat down and returned the little smile Illya gave her. She liked to see him feeling contented. His face was still mostly serious, but now and then there was a little smile telling that even if he didn’t know he had found his place, he felt it.

And even though Gaby liked her expensive dresses, she knew her place wasn’t somewhere there were three forks at the lunch table.

***

Gaby had just got her hair done when Napoleon came into her room. He handed his cufflinks to her to attach. Gaby put those on and continued her doings at the vanity. She knew it was only an excuse to come to see was she going to look presentable at the ballet; it’s not like Napoleon couldn’t put his own cufflinks on. He was looking at her, but didn’t say anything. Napoleon looked good in his tuxedo, like always. Or at least the two other times Gaby had seen him in a tuxedo.

“Are you ready?” Napoleon asked.

“Almost,” Gaby promised. She brushed some blush on her cheeks and handed him the emerald necklace Napoleon had stolen for her in Moscow. “Could you?”

Napoleon fastened the necklace around her neck and looked at her reflection in the mirror. ”You cleaned up nicely,” he grinned.

Gaby snorted.

Then Napoleon leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ”You look beautiful,” he said and winked her in the mirror.

“Thank you,” Gaby said. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s go,” Napoleon said. He helped Gaby’s coat on her and they left for the opera house. “You do know how to behave tonight?” He made sure at the car. ”And don’t do anything rash or stupid?”

“Like what?” Gaby asked, frowning.

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. ”I’m sure you can think of something,” he was convinced. “And when you do, don’t do it.”

“I promise to behave,” Gaby said. ”Isn’t Illya the one you need to be worried about? He needs to impress the woman.”

“You said I didn’t have to worry,” Napoleon commented.

“You don’t,” Gaby assured him. Then she huffed a little and sounded almost disappointed. “Because he _is_ Illya Kuryakin. “

“Yes, he is,” Napoleon grinned.

“No,” Gaby breathed out and looked outside the window. “He is. I helped him.”

“To learn his part,” Napoleon nodded.

“I helped him eighteen years ago,” Gaby said, and looked back to Napoleon. “I went in to save the cat and bumped into him. I helped him out through the cellar door. And earlier I was the one sitting on the stairs. I didn’t tell any of this to him; he remembered it. And no one can remember that if they haven’t been there.”

Napoleon frowned. “Are you being serious?”

Gaby nodded.

“You mean we actually found the real Illya Kuryakin?” Napoleon asked carefully.

“Yes,” Gaby said.

Napoleon sighed and was quiet for a while. “You know,” he finally said, “I think I am little disappointed. I mean, I thought that we had just done excellent work. But all the time it was because we had the right man. Now I feel like all the trouble was for nothing.”

“What does it matter?” Gaby asked. ”We are still going to get our money.”

”That is true,” Napoleon said and his face brightened again. “And very well played on your part.”

“How so?” Gaby asked.

“Well, his mother is a rich heiress, which makes Peril a rich heir,” Napoleon pointed out. “Which makes you one very lucky lady.”

“How does them having money affect me?” Gaby asked, wondering.

”You are going to marry rich,” Napoleon said like it was obvious. “You can continue wearing Dior. That’s good. You look nice in Dior.”

Gaby laughed. “I am doing what?”

“You and Peril,” Napoleon said. “You two are…”

“Are what?” Gaby asked with a frown on her face.

“Well, he _is_ stupidly smitten with you,” Napoleon said. “And you seem to be with him.”

“I am not,” Gaby denied.

“Why are you denying this?” Napoleon wondered. “Isn’t that a good thing? Straight from the wrong side of the wall into the arms of an heir. You could do worse.”

“Firstly,” Gaby protested firmly, “I am not smitten with Illya.” Napoleon shook his head at her. “And secondly, you just said it: he is a rich heir and I am a small-time criminal turned defector turned con artist. Not exactly every mother’s dream daughter-in-law.”

“Why do you care about the mother?” Napoleon laughed. “The son already likes you.”

“Do you really think that a rich heiress who has just gained back her son after all these years is going to be okay with him associating with just anybody?” Gaby asked. “Princes don’t marry kitchen girls.”

“What?” Napoleon’s whole face was one big frown. ”Have you read any fairy tales ever?” he huffed with disbelief in his voice. “Princes marry kitchen girls all the time. _All the time_. They don’t marry princesses. They marry the girl from the little cottage in the woods. They marry the shepherdess and the one at the spinning wheel.  They marry the girls who had scrubbed floors their whole life. And that’s just common sense. That is how you avoid inbred. Mix up the royal blood a bit.”

Gaby couldn’t help but laugh. “Fine. Maybe my example was bad. But this isn’t a fairy tale. This is the cold war. And I am a… criminal.”

“Not according to the west,” Napoleon said.

“They are not from the west,” Gaby reminded him.

“It’s not like the east has been very good to them,” Napoleon said. “You are thinking this wrong. You are not some small-time criminal with ambiguous morals and a defector to these people, to this woman. You are the girl who saved her son and the women who returned him to her. It may have taken some years, but still you brought him back.”

Gaby huffed. “Let’s just not talk about this, because we are just friends. No, acquaintances. He is somebody who is going to make us rich,” Gaby said and the car stopped. Napoleon helped her out.

“Somebody who is going to make us rich?” Napoleon repeated. ”That sound like something I would say. Not you.”

“I am a con artist nowadays, so this is how I speak,” Gaby announced and lifted her chin. “The case is closed.”

“But –“

“Closed,” Gaby snapped.

They stood on the stairs of the opera house back to back, Gaby with her arms crossed and Napoleon frowning.

Finally Napoleon spoke. “Should we tell him that he really is Kuryakin?” he asked professionally.

Gaby shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she sighed. She let her arms flop to her sides and she turned toward Napoleon. “Maybe it would be better to wait until everything is done.”

Napoleon nodded. His forehead was smooth again.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Gaby said. “Easier if he hears it from his mother.”

“It’s easier,” Napoleon admitted.

“What is easier?” Illya asked and startled Gaby and Napoleon.

“Nothing spe… special,” Gaby stammered when she turned to him. His black coat was open and the white scarf on his neck was waving gently in the breeze. He looked very handsome in his tuxedo. There was a wave of warmth floating through Gaby. Everything turned all soft and tender inside her. Illya swallowed when Gaby just stared at him. The wind blew a scent of his cologne to her and Gaby took a deep breath. For a moment she could only think of how much she just wanted to lift her hands to his neck and kiss him in a way that he would remember everything that he had forgotten and forget all the bad things of the last eighteen years. Gaby could notice only his scent and gaze and the lust she felt.

“You are practically drooling,” Napoleon murmured close to her ear and left her to go inside with Victoria.

Gaby didn’t even bother to glare after him. She just stared at Illya.

“Nothing special,” Illya repeated.

“Yes,” Gaby said, even if she really couldn’t remember what she and Napoleon were discussing earlier. Illya offered his arm to her and Gaby took it. “You look very handsome,” she said because she couldn’t not say it. She feared that her mind that was all blurred by the lust and infatuation would betray her and she would accidentally say something stupid, like ask him to father her sons.

Illya smiled a little when they walked in. He looked chuffed but not too confident and that eased Gaby’s mind. Maybe Illya wouldn’t notice that she was acting weirdly.

And he didn’t. To Illya Gaby seemed completely normal. He himself felt restless. He let Gaby go ahead and left their coats in the coat room. Everything was so grand and fancy, and he didn’t know if he would fit in. But then, he was fancy too, and nobody acted like he didn’t fit. Everybody was polite, nobody looked him like he was in the wrong place.

And then there was Gaby, who stood on the landing on the stairs and waited for him. Her Dior dress was the same emerald green as the necklace she was wearing. It was narrow and very fitting and bared most of her back. She was standing straight, looking slender, and then she lifted her gaze to him. And she smiled that little smile of hers for him. Nobody else, just him. She was somebody who didn’t care what people thought about her appearance and still Illya liked to think that she had wanted to look pretty for him.

Illya climbed the last few steps to Gaby and she still looked at him. Her eyes were dark and her lips red. She was beautiful and soft and tonight his. Maybe it was all temporary and not really true, but it felt good and for a moment Illya wanted to forget that it was just make-believe. He wanted to act like everybody surrounding them thought, that the beautiful woman in the emerald green dress was his. And when Gaby smiled like she did, it was easy to believe. He walked to her and offered his arm and Gaby wrapped hers over it. Illya could feel the warmth of her when she leaned closer to him. There was a crowd and Gaby moved closer and turned in front of him to let people pass. Her hands set on Illya’s chest. It would’ve been so easy to pull her closer and kiss her, sink his fingers into her hairdo. And Illya, who was a gentleman, like he should be when wearing a tuxedo and attending the ballet, couldn’t help thinking of slowly opening the zipper on her dress. To see all the things it held under it, taste and touch it. When they entered the box, Illya’s hand set naturally on her back to guide her in and the bare skin against his palm made his hand tingle and his mouth dry.

“You look beautiful,” Illya said when they sat down. It was easy to say, he didn’t hesitate.

When Napoleon had said it, Gaby had smiled and took the compliment, now she felt herself blushing and when she said thank you, her voice was unsure and almost shy. Gaby felt like a teenager again and doing things with a boy for the first time. “Have you ever been to the ballet?” Gaby asked to get something safe to talk about. She already knew the answer.

“No,” Illya admitted. ”Did you dance as well as they are going to?” he asked.

Gaby smiled. “This is the Bolshoi. No one dances as well as they do,” she said.

Illya nodded and enjoyed Gaby’s smiling face looking at him.

Napoleon poked Gaby’s shoulder and handed her small pair of opera glasses. “Ten o’clock,” he said.

Gaby lifted the opera glasses to her eyes and looked. She found Victoria, who looked lazy and slightly bored, as usual, but was very beautiful in her monochrome evening gown. Gaby searched the rest of the box and got Mrs. Kuryakin in her sights. She looked older than in Gaby’s faded memories and the old photographs, yet she was elegant and beautiful. She wore navy velvet, and diamonds in her ears.  Gaby handed the opera glasses to Illya.

Illya had seen pictures of the woman Gaby and Cowboy said was his mother, but those brought him no memories. He thought that if he just saw her in the flesh he might remember. Now he did see her, sitting in a box, blond and elegant. And yet he felt nothing. No memories, no emotions, no nothing. He was disappointed and lowered the opera glasses.

Gaby looked at Illya. His face was tense again and he didn’t look towards his mother anymore. Gaby moved her hand quickly and took his hand in hers. She squeezed it gently and watched the stage and the dancers, not Illya. And just when she was going to take her hand away, he squeezed back. So she let her hand rest in Illya’s hand, on his lap.

***

Napoleon set his lapels and looked at Gaby and Peril. Both looked nervous. They were standing very close to each other, but still not touching. Napoleon knew Gaby had lied when she claimed that she wasn’t smitten with him. It was clear that she was. They both were smitten.

“Ready?” Napoleon asked. First they both looked at him, but then Gaby turned her face to Peril, because the question was aimed at him. He nodded stiffly and Napoleon knocked on the box door.

Lazily and still gracefully moving, Victoria opened the door and glanced at him, a little bored but not malicious, and let him in.

“How can we help? Mr…?” she asked.

”Solo, Napoleon Solo,” he introduced himself and kissed Victoria’s hand even if it was unnecessary. But it looked good. He looked at her from under his brows and winked. She pouted just a bit approvingly. Then Napoleon turned to the other woman. She wasn’t catlike and smooth or as tall as Victoria, but still blond and elegant. She was much more straight and serious.

“Yagoda,” Victoria said. ”This is Napoleon Solo. Mr. Solo, this is Yagoda Kuryakin.”

“Lovely to meet you,” Napoleon said and kissed her hand too.

“Your name sounds familiar,” Mrs. Kuryakin said but didn’t remember from where.

“Mr. Solo apparently has something to say,” Victoria said helpfully. She sort of liked him. He had this smooth easiness. He seemed like somebody who would do the job efficiently and thoroughly and when she was finished with him he wouldn’t outstay his welcome. He would leave happily and move to warm somebody else’s bed. Victoria had already decided that she would bed him.

“Indeed I have,” Napoleon assured. ”We have something that belongs to you, Mrs. Kuryakin,” he said, smiling reassuringly to Mrs. Kuryakin, who lifted her brows. “Your son.”

***

Illya seemed uncomfortable so Gaby touched his arm softly. “Everything is going to go okay,” she said. “I promise.”

“We will see,” Illya huffed. He was having second thoughts, remember that this was a con, that he was only pretending to be this woman’s son. He regretted that he had started to believe it. It would be so much harder to go back to his previous life after he had let himself believe that this was the place he belonged.

Gaby smiled gently at him. She knew that everything was going to go well. She let her hand slide down his arm and when she touched his bare wrist, she took hold of that.

Her hand on Illya’s wrist made his skin tingle. It was so familiar, like it had been there always. He looked at her. Maybe he didn’t belong in here. Maybe he didn’t belong anywhere. But at least here he had gotten a few very different days with people who had treated him like an equal. They had fought, and a few times Illya had been sure that going with them was stupidest thing he could have done, but with them he had felt like a real human again. He had spoken more that he had spoken in years. His name had been said so softly that it almost made his knees weak. His opinions had mattered, and so had his wellbeing. And if this was just few days of a different life, at least there was Gaby holding his wrist and looking at him right now. And maybe it was worth having to go back.

***

Yagoda Kuryakin lowered her gaze for a while from the handsome dark-haired man in front of her. She took a quick lungful of air and looked him again. “No,” she stated. “I have seen enough.” If this man thought he was going to charm his way in, he was wrong. Maybe he would’ve succeeded when she was younger, but not anymore. With time she had learned her own value and strength. Nobody made her do anything she didn’t want to do anymore.

The situation made her angry. She had lost her son once already and when there had been a little spark of hope, it had merely turned as ugly and horrible as before. Her husband had been taken in the middle of the night; she never saw him again. She had sent her own child away without realizing that she wouldn’t see him ever again either. She had been forcefully taken from her home, brutalized, raped, her home burned, hours of questioning, pain and shame. Then she’d had to bury the son she had sent away herself. Years went by before there was even a single day when she didn’t think how different things might have been if she had just kept him tightly with her and let the KGB take them both. Deep down she knew that they would’ve taken him anyway, but maybe then he would’ve at least survived. And now the fact that it wasn’t her Illya she had buried in a grave, that little glimpse of hope had died out and was buried somewhere under lies and greed. She knew now it had been foolish to hope to see him again. She would never get her Illya back.

Napoleon could sense that flattery and charm wouldn’t get him far. So he tried the direct approach: “We know he is your son,” he said bluntly. “My partner can confirm that. She met your son the night he disappeared and –“

“I said no,” Mrs. Kuryakin said sharply. “I don’t want to hear your story about how you have come to the conclusion that this is my son. You are not the first one who had somebody with him who had met my son, so to speak.”

“He is just outside,” Napoleon told. “You only need to –“

“No,” Mrs. Kuryakin snapped and her “no” echoed from the walls. Her jaw tightened. “Napoleon Solo, now I remember. You held auditions to find somebody to play him.”

Napoleon cleared his throat. “For a start, yes. But we didn’t find him like that.”

“Maybe it was my mistake to offer a reward,” Mrs. Kuryakin huffed. “I should’ve known that it just lure in con men. You may leave now.”

“Mrs. Kuryakin,” Napoleon tried again even though he felt it was useless. Maybe they just would wait behind the door for when the ballet ended and she left.

“Go,” Mrs. Kuryakin ordered and pointed to the door. She was tired and fed up. All this felt like she was burying Illya all over again.

***

Illya stepped closer to Gaby to let people pass them. It was unnecessary, just an excuse. Gaby didn’t step away. He carefully lifted his hand and set it on her bare back, right above the waist, and Gaby’s lips parted slightly. Her hand was still holding his wrist gently, making him feel comfortable in some way. Illya lowered his head closer to her and Gaby leaned towards him. He could see how her eyes started to slowly close when a sharp yell through the door stopped them. They didn’t pull back, only stopped to listen. Somebody had yelled “no” and Illya turned his head to hear the words creeping out of the room. His jaw tightened.

Gaby swallowed thickly when she heard the quiet word through the barely open door. She felt Illya’s hand moving from her and him stepping away.

“You held auditions?” Illya asked, distressed.

“Yes,” Gaby confessed. She felt this was not the time to lie.

“This was all because of money,” Illya sighed and stepped farther still. Gaby’s hand followed him, because she didn’t want to let go of his wrist. Gaby felt like if she did, she may not ever see him again.

“It’s just money,” Gaby said. “Does it matter why we originally did it if it brought you here?”

Illya shook his head. He should’ve known that this was too good to be true. Of course he had just been a pawn in the game of the smooth American con man and the pretty German car thief. He had been too desperate to see anything but their lies.

“And it doesn’t matter,” Gaby sighed. “Because you are Illya Kuryakin. It’s you.”

“Stop,” Illya huffed. His fingers tapped against his thigh. That and Gaby’s hand on his other wrist sent mixed signals and he didn’t know what he should feel. It left him confused and agitated. “And it is not only me,” he said angrily and pointed the box’s door. “It is her too. You didn’t just make me believe that I was somebody who mattered, now you are poisoning her too.”

“Illya, please,” Gaby asked, afraid.

“I may not remember what happened to me and who I lost,” Illya grunted. ”But she remembers. She had to bury her son. How do you think she feels when you are pushing some liar to her?”

“But you are not a liar,” Gaby assured her voice trembling. ”When she sees you everything will be okay. I promise,” she said and squeezed his wrist.

“No,” Illya said and yanked his wrist from Gaby’s hand. She made a sharp gasp and tried to grasp him again.

“Illya, please,” Gaby begged. ”Illya, just listen –“

“Stop using my name,” Illya grunted. “Do you know how it feels when you say it? It feels like I would be someone important, like I matter. And I don’t want to feel that when it is not true. So don’t use it anymore.”

”Then what will I call you if I can’t use your name?” Gaby asked. She feared she might cry. She just wanted to calm Illya down. But he was too anxious and too angry to listen.

“You don’t,” Illya said and his eyes were cold and face tense. “I was foolish enough to think that you…”

“I what?” Gaby asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Illya said and turned his face away. He didn’t want to look at Gaby anymore. He felt stupid and weak and an attention-sore fool who had let a pretty girl to lure him along into something that was going to hurt everybody.

Napoleon came out of the door. “She doesn’t want to meet anybody. I think we should wait here until she comes out.”

“No,” Illya said and left.

“Wait,” Gaby called and hurried after him. She still trying to get hold of his wrist, but wasn’t able to.

Napoleon ran after them and stepped in front of Illya, but Illya pushed him away.

“You can steal your money like you do,” Illya grunted. “But don’t use me to get more.”

“Peril, hey,” Napoleon tried to explain. “This is just a misunderstanding.”

“Illya, wait,” Gaby begged and tried to take hold of his hand.

“Don’t use my name,” Illya growled. The corridor was full of people staring at them. Gaby and Cowboy were trying to get closer. Gaby kept saying his name even though he had forbidden it. The pleasure he felt because of that mixed with the bitterness and made him sick. Everybody was staring and whispering, and Illya knew what they were saying about him: freak.

“Just let us explain,” Napoleon grunted. The situation had swollen in a scale that it didn’t need to be.

“I don’t want anything from you,” Illya almost shouted. “No explanations. No nothing.” Gaby grabbed his wrist and it was so warm it almost burned and Illya had to rip his hand away. Gaby staggered back.

”Don’t be unreasonable, Peril,” Napoleon huffed and set his hand on his shoulder to attempt to calm, but Illya was past calming. He was filled with anger and disappointment, judging people and Gaby’s expression when she staggered. Napoleon’s touch was sudden and he couldn’t, didn’t want to, control himself. Illya’s fist hit Napoleon’s jaw and Solo dropped to the floor. Illya didn’t stay to see how everybody reacted; he had seen that before. And he didn’t want to see Gaby’s face. If she ever had really liked him, it was gone now. Illya just wanted to leave the building, and the situation, and get away from the people. He wanted to be alone and stay alone.

***

Gaby kneeled down to Napoleon. ”Are you okay?” she breathed out.

Napoleon rubbed his jaw. “Pretty much,” he muttered.

Gaby stood up and ran after Illya. She ran down the stairs to the foyer, past the coat rooms and out onto the street where it was already dark. But Illya wasn’t there anymore.

 


	7. My curse made each of them pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture links: 
> 
> [Illya's memories](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140219677060/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsillyas)
> 
> [Money](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140219787695/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsmoney)

**Paris 1963**

 

Napoleon stood on the stone stairs of the opera house and rubbed his jaw. Gaby leaned on a stone column with a statue on top of it. She held the coat Illya had left behind. Gaby lifted it and held it to her nose, but it was new and it didn’t smell like him. Just a hint of his cologne.

“He was holding back,” Napoleon said and stopped rubbing, “when he hit me.”

“How can you tell?” Gaby asked.

”Because I’m alive,” Napoleon muttered sarcastically, but meant it. Peril had hit hard, but Solo had expected something more along the line of a battering ram which would’ve broken his jaw, so he knew the man had held back.

“We should’ve told him the truth from the start,” Gaby said and shook her head, mostly to herself.

“For an ex-soldier and somebody who has killed people and who apparently has problems controlling his temper, he has annoyingly high morals,” Napoleon pointed out. “If we would’ve said that we needed him to come to Paris to pretend to be somebody so we can con a big bag of money from a grieving mother, he never would’ve come.”

“They still haven’t met,” Gaby reminded him, frustrated.

“No, but at least they are in same city,” Napoleon said. “That’s something. If you really wanted to get them together then this was the only way to get them this close. At least now he has a chance.”

Gaby sighed and squeezed the coat. She knew all that. It didn’t help her feel any better.

“Do you think he is at Vinciguerra’s?” Napoleon asked.

Gaby nodded. ”Probably packing his things.”

Napoleon grunted. He was annoyed. He was annoyed that Peril hadn’t listened to his explanations, that Mrs. Kuryakin just wouldn’t meet him and give them the reward money. And even Gaby had to be so miserable. She just hugged the coat and frowned.

“Stop that,” he told her. “You are making me depressed.”

Gaby scowled at him. She turned her head and looked the other way. The last people were leaving the opera house. Then Mrs. Kuryakin was on the stairs. She was walking towards the car waiting for her. The driver held the door open for her. Gaby felt very strongly that Mrs. Kuryakin should see Illya even if they needed to force her to do that.

“Have you ever kidnapped anybody?” Gaby asked, interested.

“No. Can’t say that I have,” Napoleon sighed.

“We should add that to your resume,” Gaby decided and pushed herself off the stone column.

Napoleon frowned and turned to see what Gaby was watching. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Are you chickening out?” Gaby asked critically, her brows lifted.

“No,” Napoleon admitted. “Let’s go. You drive, I’ll take the driver.”

Gaby nodded and they headed to the car. The driver closed the door after Mrs. Kuryakin. He didn’t have time to notice anything before Napoleon punched him. Gaby stepped in and started the car; Napoleon jumped in, and before his door was closed the car was moving.

“What are you doing?” Mrs. Kuryakin demanded, startled and angry.

“We are going to see your son,” Gaby informed her and drove a little more recklessly than was strictly necessary.

Mrs. Kuryakin took a gun from her purse, cocked it, and aimed at the front seat. “You will stop this car immediately,” she ordered. She was no longer some innocent girl, she was a woman and she knew how to take care of herself.

Gaby slowed the car to a stop.

“I would like to see your hands,” Mrs. Kuryakin said politely but very firmly. “Did you really think that you could easily kidnap me?”

Gaby and Napoleon lifted their hands, a little embarrassed, and looked at each other. They had thought exactly that. Gaby raised her brows and her jaw tightened. Napoleon rolled his eyes, but sighed lightly. It was a whole conversation between them about whether she would actually shoot if they did something reckless. Gaby slammed the gas pedal on the floor and forced everybody against their seats. Napoleon turned and pushed Mrs. Kuryakin’s arm up, so that when the weapon fired, the bullet went through the roof. He took the gun from her and had to use more force that he would have thought necessary, but she hung on to it very tightly. Gaby continued speeding and Napoleon aimed at Mrs. Kuryakin.

“I am sorry it went like this,” Napoleon apologized. “But you have to admit that you started it. Well, we did forcefully take you with us, but you had the gun.”

Mrs. Kuryakin ground her teeth and stared at him icily.

“And we are not kidnapping you,” Napoleon assured. “We are going to your cousin’s house. You know the place. You just go in, into the west wing, meet Illya, do whatever people do when they haven’t seen each other in eighteen years, and later you will pay us our reward money and I will return your gun. It’s all very simple.”

“You are very sure about yourselves,” Mrs. Kuryakin said.

“Yes, we are,” Napoleon declared and smiled. “But this case is also about Illya.”

Gaby stopped the car in front of the Vinciguerra house. She stepped out and went to open the door for Mrs. Kuryakin. She looked at Gaby tightly.

“You only need to see him,” Gaby said. ”I’m sure you will know immediately.”

“What makes you think that?” Mrs. Kuryakin asked. “It’s been eighteen years.”

“It’s him. I know. I helped him out of the burning house, and he remembers that, I promise,” Gaby said. “He had a scar when he fell down the stairs at the boarding school.”

Mrs. Kuryakin stared at Gaby.

“I don’t think you have told that to very many people,” Gaby suspected. “He had a bandage on his face that night. He had a coat over his pajamas. The pajamas were blue and the coat brown. It’s him,” she insisted almost desperately. Gaby only wanted her to go and see Illya. If Illya wanted to hate Gaby and Napoleon, he could do that; he had the right. But it didn’t mean that Gaby was going to give up. He still deserved to get his mother back.

Napoleon stepped out and put the gun in his pocket as a gesture of good will.

Mrs. Kuryakin took a deep breath and got out. She didn’t like threats, but these people seemed desperate. And desperate people sometimes did rash things. She felt it would be safer to just go to see this man and wait to see what they were going to do next. Maybe this way they would leave her in peace. She started walking towards the house.

Gaby sighed and flopped against the car. Napoleon leaned next to her. For some time they just leaned on the car and stared at the house.

“Do you want to wait here?” Napoleon asked.

“Not really,” Gaby said. ”I know how it’s ending. I don’t need to see it.”

Napoleon pushed his hands in his pockets and nodded. He pulled out a diamond bracelet he had forgotten taking at the ballet. He took Gaby’s arm and attached it on her wrist. “Let’s go then.”

“Where?” Gaby asked.

”We have make effort to look extra nice today,” Napoleon said. ”We shouldn’t waste it. We should return to the Moulin Rouge and order hard liquor until we are ridiculously drunk. Alcohol and _Frou-Frou_ is what we need.”

Gaby nodded. She felt like that was excellent idea. She hanged Illya’s coat and the white scarf on the car window. She was sure he would find it there. Napoleon offered his arm and Gaby took it.

***

Illya didn’t pack, he simply sat on the bed in the dimly lit room. He could hear the door opening but he didn’t react to it. He didn’t have the strength. More than ever he hoped that it wasn’t Gaby, because dealing with her would be too hard right now. He just wanted to lie against her, bury his face in the crook of her neck like on the ship and let her hold him until everything was better. But she was one of those who had made him feel this bad and he couldn’t encounter her right now even if he still wanted to. So he just sat, stared at the floor, and hoped that it wasn’t Gaby.

He lifted his gaze when a woman softly cleared her throat. Illya recognized the woman standing by the door. She was Yagoda Kuryakin, whom he had seen in pictures the last few days, and earlier at the ballet. She walked in front of him and looked at him. Illya wanted to remember her but he couldn’t. She was just a woman, nothing more to him.

But Mrs. Kuryakin recognized his face. She could see her husband’s features in him and the Illya she had lost all those years ago. She recognized his blue eyes, his nose, jaw, lips, everything. She lifted her hand slowly and it hovered near Illya’s face.

“Peppermint,” Illya said when he smelled it.

Mrs. Kuryakin nodded. “Hand oil,” she said and her hand touched his cheek gently, one finger tracing the scar that had been a nasty-looking wound the last time she had seen him.

And then it all came, a rush of things Illya had forgotten. He could remember now. He knew her face. He remembered how he had always run to her when she was coming home or when he came home to her. How she smiled, kneeled down, took his face gently in her hands and kissed both of his cheeks. The smell of peppermint flowed in the air and somehow always there was sunshine that made her hair glow and her pearl earrings shine. He remembered how he had fallen with his bicycle when he was learning to ride, but how he always still got up and tried again. He remembered Puškin’s yellow fur and how soft it was against his hands. The first snow fell and he eagerly waited until he could build a snowman. His father throwing snowballs at him. His mother’s lips on his cold cheeks. He broke a vase and blamed Puškin for it. The marbles rolled across the drawing room floor. When the sun hit them, they made rainbows on the walls. He stole apples from the neighbor’s tree. It had one red cheek and it was sour but it was his. The fight in school that made him fall down the stairs. The blood on his fingers. The girl on the stairs who was holding Puškin. His mother’s eyes when she told him to run as fast as he could. Her hand when she pushed him out of the door. Monsters chasing him. Orange flames and the heat on his face. He wanted to cough, but knew he couldn’t. Her hand around his wrist. The dark forest. Snow. His feet slipped. His mother’s scream somewhere in the background. Even now in his nightmares. He didn’t know then what they were going to do to her, but he knew now and it made his lower lip tremble and his eyes filled with tears.

Mrs. Kuryakin let her fingers slide on Illya’s cheek. Big tears run down her own cheeks. “It’s really you,” she managed to say, her voice trembling. ”Illyushka.”

Illya couldn’t say anything when memories flooded his brain and covered him. But he could smell the peppermint and that meant safety. Finally he said just one word, “мать”. And his mother sat next to him, pulled him into her arms and hugged him for that first time in eighteen years. And it felt like a piece of a heaven. It was safe and familiar and it calmed his racing heart.

***

Gaby rolled over on the bed. She felt horrible. Carefully she lifted herself up and secured herself with her elbow. She noticed she was wearing her pajamas, which seemed odd considering how bad she felt. Gaby would’ve thought that maybe somebody else had helped her put those on, but her clothes were scattered around the room, so she probably had done it by herself. Her hair was still up; she could feel the pins on her head. There were strands escaping the hairdo. Gaby returned to lying on the bed. She felt it was safer to close her eyes and try to forget everything.

She jerked when somebody knocked on the door. Gaby didn’t know how long it had been since she closed her eyes. Was it a minute or three hours? She couldn’t say. She didn’t get a chance to decide what she was going to say when Napoleon opened the door and slouched across the room, wearing his pajamas and robe, and collapsed on the wide bed next to Gaby.

“I feel awful,” he muttered against the pillow.

Gaby mumbled something.

“His room is empty,” Napoleon said.

“I know,” Gaby sighed.

“Did you go to check?” he asked and rolled arduously on his back.

“I don’t know,” Gaby muttered. “Maybe. I must have. I don’t remember doing it but when you said it I wasn’t surprised. So I must have known,” she pondered. “Or maybe I just guessed.” She sighed, disappointed. Of course she had known that he wouldn’t stay here, but it still troubled her.

“How did we get here?” Napoleon asked with a frown. He couldn’t remember.

“I have no clue,” Gaby confessed and shook her head. “I have very few memories after when we decided that it would be easier to buy the whole bottle of scotch instead of ordering it glass by glass.”

Napoleon nodded slowly. “I remember that too. Not much after. I remember the girls from the _Frou-Frou_.”

“Of course you do,” Gaby smiled. “Was there any in your room when you woke up?”

“Strangely, no,” Napoleon muttered.

Gaby stretched her hand and her fingers touched the diamond bracelet Napoleon had put on her last night. Gaby lifted the hand to look at it more closely. There were three bracelets now. She flopped her hand against Napoleon. ”Where did these came from?”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders against the bed and Gaby relaxed her hand.

“Give me the phone,” Napoleon asked and slowly rose to lean against the headboard. Gaby did the same and handed him the phone from the bedside table. “I’m sure there is a line to the kitchen. Must be. Victoria doesn’t seem like a woman who walks there when she wants to something to eat.” He tried a few numbers. Somebody answered when he dialed zero and told him that the kitchen line was nine. Napoleon ordered two plates of bacon and scrambled eggs, heavily buttered toast, orange juice, and champagne.

“Why champagne?” Gaby asked.

“Hair of the dog,” Napoleon said. ”And probably for a celebration too, we’ll wait.”

They sat on the bed and ate bacon and toast and drink champagne. Gaby didn’t really feel like drinking any champagne.

”Do you think we can stay here for a couple of days?” Napoleon asked. “I mean, who would even know that we are here, if we don’t cause any problems?”

The phone rang and Gaby grabbed it.

“This is Yagoda Kuryakin’s personal secretary,” a woman’s voice said. She spoke English with a clear French accent. “I would like to confirm a meeting with you. How will Monday work for you? Two o’clock?”

“ _Oui_ ,” Gaby answered. Her French was very poor, but she could manage a few words.

“We will see you then,” the woman said.

“ _Merci_ ,” Gaby said and hung up the phone.

“Was that money calling?” Napoleon asked.

Gaby nodded. “Day after tomorrow.”

Napoleon grinned. “Excellent,” he raised his champagne glass and clinked it against Gaby’s glass.

Gaby sipped her drink and sighed. She didn’t really feel like money either.

 

**Moscow 1963**

 

Oleg Kuznetsov sat behind his desk and shook his head at a report. Young Bagrov came in and threw the morning paper in the desk.

“Can you believe it, they found him,” he said, surprised.

“Who?” Oleg asked even if wasn’t really interested. It didn’t matter what Bagrov said, he rarely listened to him.

“Kuryakin, the boy whose father was taken. They found him. Unbelievable,” Bagrov said. He was young and new and didn’t know how Oleg fit in the case.

Oleg lifted his head from the report. “Are you serious?” he grunted.

Bagrov lifted his brows olden man’s sudden reaction. “There it is. Read it yourself,” he said and pointed at the newspaper.

Oleg grabbed the paper and flipped it until he found the news item. So it was true, he had been found; alive and well. He threw the paper away and it scattered across the floor.

“Is everything okay?” Bagrov asked. ”You should worry about stress. It kills.”

“You mind your own business. What are you even doing here? Get out of here,” Oleg grunted. His hand clenched into fists. He would finish this. He would visit the boy, maybe even the mother. She wouldn’t be cuffed to a table this time, but then you can’t always get what you want.

 

**Paris 1963**

 

Napoleon stood in the middle of Mrs. Kuryakin’s study. She had a nice mansion, just outside of the city. He took the gun from his pocket and set it on the desk. “Yours, I believe,” he said lightly and smiled. Now when he didn’t have to persuade her to do anything, it was easy to be light.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Kuryakin said. There was a little, maybe even approving, expression on her face. She may have actually been a little impressed at how boldly they had handled the situation.

Gaby stood by the window and stared out. There was a big garden that ended at a river. There were a few men working on the fence bordering the river. She looked because she knew Napoleon wanted to deal with the money transfer. She had dressed herself in an orange Cardin dress and jacket because she knew Napoleon would’ve just sent her back to change.

Mrs. Kuryakin opened the briefcase on the table and Napoleon smiled when the money came out. “Seventy thousand dollars,” she said, “as promised.”

Napoleon walked to her and took one stack of bills on his hand and sniffed it. “That smells nice,” he said and smiled at Mrs. Kuryakin. Then he turned to Gaby. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Gaby stared out at the garden and the river and bit her lower lip. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. “Yes.”

“Really?” Napoleon asked, frowning. ”Just look at it,” he asked and pointed at the money.

Gaby glanced him and smiled slightly. “I am sure.”

“Is something wrong?” Mrs. Kuryakin asked.

”Unfortunately, yes,” Napoleon sighed. ”My partner here has developed some sort of moral compass,” he muttered and turned his head to Gaby one more time. “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Just do it,” Gaby asked before he started annoying her.

Napoleon shook his head and sighed again. The he started to take the bundles of bills away. Half. Well, mostly half. ”I feel as if bringing Illya to Paris was worth the reward, I mean we did get shot at on the way here,” he explained and Mrs. Kuryakin frowned. “But my partner has decided in some weird moral fit that she isn’t going to take her half of the reward.”

Mrs. Kuryakin looked at Gaby, who turned her face away. Gaby was somewhat embarrassed. She wished that Napoleon hadn’t made such a big deal about it.

Napoleon closed the briefcase and picked it up. Then he took Mrs. Kuryakin’s hand and kissed it. “It was a pleasure to meet you,” he said smoothly.

Mrs. Kuryakin smiled in return. She liked his very apparent charm. The girl was a different story. She seemed very distant. She didn’t make any eye contact or speak much. She simply stared out of the window.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Kuryakin said.

Napoleon nodded; Gaby jerked her head slightly.

“Why?” Mrs. Kuryakin asked and they stopped by the door and turned back to her. “Why don’t you take your money? You deserve it.”

Gaby shrugged her shoulders. “It just doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.”

“You helped him out of the burning house,” Mrs. Kuryakin said. “Why were you there to help? Didn’t you get out?”

”I was already out,” Gaby admitted. “But I went back in. Because of the cat.”

Mrs. Kuryakin looked confused. “You returned to the burning house because of Puškin?”

“Yes,” Gaby said. “It was only chance that I bumped in to Illya and just pure luck that we didn’t both burn there. The flames were so hot I was afraid my face would catch on fire. And there were men with guns. I didn’t realize it then, not really, but they were there to find him, right?”

Mrs. Kuryakin nodded. “I can’t believe you saved him because of that cat. And I was so against getting it. Now I feel sorry about what happened to it,” she said powerlessly.

Gaby hummed a little. “The cat was fine. I found it before we went to the cellar. And because nobody was there to claim him and because my mother was too shocked to realize what I was doing, I just kept him. I took him back with me to Berlin. He lived six more years with me there,” Gaby told. “I forgot most of Russia over the years. The only reason I remembered your name when Napoleon told me about you was the cat. I didn’t know he was called Puškin. I didn’t know what his name was. The reason I remembered you was because I named him Kuryakin. After you.”

Mrs. Kuryakin smiled quickly and breathed out so she wouldn’t let the emotions make the best of her.

Gaby glanced at Napoleon and they left and closed the door behind them.

Behind the closed door Yagoda Kuryakin shut her eyes and plump tears ran over her cheeks. She realized how close it had been that Illya never got out of the house. And how little and silly things had helped him come back to her. One girl and one cat had saved him and brought him back.

***

Gaby and Napoleon walked down the stairs back to the ground floor. Gaby swallowed roughly and her pace slowed down when she noticed that Illya turned to the stairs. He stopped for a second but then continued walking up. They had already seen each other so it would’ve been stupid to pretend to something else.

Napoleon glanced at Gaby. “This is going to be painfully awkward again, isn’t it?” he said and then walked little faster and left Gaby behind. When he passed Illya he grinned. “Absolutely hated working with you, Peril.”

“You’re a terrible conman, Cowboy,” Illya said after him and stopped. When he turned to continue up the stairs, Gaby was in his way and they both just stood there. Neither one looked at the other, but both glanced carefully just to get a peek.

“What are you planning now?” Illya asked finally. “Back home?”

“I’m not going back East Germany,” Gaby said.

“I mean, are you going to go to find a home for you?” Illya corrected uneasily.

Gaby nodded. ”Yes. Before last week I hadn’t really gone anywhere, so I think I’m just going to travel for a while. Look for some place that feels like home.”

“That sounds nice,” Illya said sincerely.

Their eyes met and then neither one of them could look away anymore. They were standing close and it would have been easy to just take the last few steps to the other and touch. But they stayed put. They just looked at each other.

”I am happy that you climbed through that window,” Gaby said plaintively. “And that I saw you returning home.”

Illya smiled. He was also happy that he had chosen that window.

“Mr. Kuryakin,” someone called from upstairs.

When Illya just kept looking at Gaby, she had to smile a little. “I think he is talking to you,” she commented and Illya glanced up. When he looked back to Gaby she was already taking her first step away. Gaby didn’t want to say anything anymore. She felt like everything that she could say would just make her sad. So she just walked down the stairs. Gaby turned at the door to look back to get a last glimpse of Illya. He was looking at her. Gaby still felt like it would be so much classier to not look back. But in her heart she knew that she was a sentimental fool who had to have the last look. Whether it was a place she wanted to leave or a person she didn’t.

***

Napoleon leaned on the cast iron fence surrounding the house when Gaby walked out into the yard. She went to lean next to him. The sunshine warmed her face.

“What’s next? America?” Gaby asked Napoleon.

“Actually I was going to stay for a while,” Napoleon said and nodded to support his decision.

“Do you mean Paris or Victoria’s marriage bed?” Gaby smirked.

“Well, her husband is still in Italy,” Napoleon pointed out. ”I don’t really like to leave a lady in need.”

Gaby chuckled and shook her head. “Just don’t get shot if the husband returns earlier than you expected,” she said. “I would probably miss you.”

“Of course you would,” Napoleon assured. ”You have no reason not to miss me,” he continued and made Gaby laugh. “What about you? Where you are going to go?”

Gaby shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe Switzerland. Eat some chocolate, watch the Alps, and think about what I’m going to do next.”

“That sounds nice,” Napoleon said. “Let me know where you end up. Send me a postcard so I know.” Napoleon looked at Gaby, who nodded a little. ”I mean it,” he said and frowned. “I need to know where to find you when I need help the next time.”

“I know,” Gaby smiled. “I’ll let you know,” she promised.

Napoleon took a thick envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Gaby. “It’s all I’ve stolen during this trip. You can have it, because you declined the Kuryakin money. You have to buy your chocolate with something.”

“Thanks,” Gaby said.

“And there may or may not be some jewelry on your bag,” Napoleon said and shrugged his shoulders. “Possibly.”

Gaby stepped closer and quickly hugged Napoleon. Then she started slowly walk backwards. ”Do svidaniya, Cowboy.”

“Hey,” Napoleon huffed. “I don’t need more people calling me that.”

Gaby smiled and waved her hand as she turned to walk away.

 


	8. I'll be safe and wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The picture links:
> 
> [Oleg Kuznetsov](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140281901720/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsoleg)
> 
> [In the garden](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140282023755/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsat-the)
> 
> [Finale](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140282151300/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au-aestheticsfinale)
> 
> There is a bonus picture in the end. Sort of what happens after the story ends.

**Paris 1963**

 

Illya walked to the edge of the room. He knew that he was supposed to talk to everybody and be the center of the party, but that made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want everybody looking at him. Not even when they all were smiling and saying positive things. He’d much rather stay in the background. Last time he was at a party, he had had a wound on his face. Now there was a scar instead. Last time Gaby had sat on the stairs and looked at him. But there were no stairs. And there was no Gaby.

He forced a smile when somebody patted his arm, and then he had to shake hands with somebody, and then someone wanted to know how he ended up in Paris. He gave a vague answer and excused himself. He wanted to leave the party, but his mother had invited all the people because of him, so he didn’t feel he could. Illya wasn’t sure that he was a party person. Or maybe he was with the wrong people. If Gaby and Cowboy were here, it would be different. Cowboy probably would pick some pockets and snatch some jewelry while flirting with all the women. Gaby would take a few shots of vodka and then huff because there was no dancing and no cake. They would be discreetly arrogant and they would get him involved in something that they weren’t supposed to do. Illya noticed that he was smiling a little. It all actually sounded nice. And thoughts of Gaby shaking her head for something odd rich people did and then pulling him in some dark corner to scheme some silly ruse warmed him inside. Maybe she wouldn’t want to scheme, maybe she would pull him there for some other reason. Maybe she would gently reel him closer by his jackets lapels, touch him with her soft lips and warm tongue.

Illya shook the idea out of his head. She wasn’t there. She had gone.

***

Gaby’s face froze in a disbelieving frown when the car suddenly made a weird sound and then came to a stop in the middle of the road. The drivers behind her honked their horns and Gaby tried to start the engine again. The car didn’t make a peep.

“What is this?” she huffed in German, alone in the car. She kept trying to start the car but it did nothing. The honking cars were getting on her nerves. “Just go around,” she yelled, even though no one really could hear her. “Can’t you see that I am not moving anywhere?”

Angrily she stepped out and opened the bonnet. She looked and poked and found nothing was wrong. The car had no reason to stop and not start again. “What’s wrong with you?” Gaby growled and kicked the front tire. ”There’s nothing wrong with you. Why don’t you work?” She slammed the bonnet shut and leaned against it, frustrated. Her arms were crossed and her face gloomy. The cars behind her had stopped honking and started driving around her.

“Is this supposed be some sort of sign?” she snapped in the night, her little German curses lost among the engine noises. “What? What is this sign of?” she asked, frustrated. ”I don’t even know who I’m yelling at. The universe?” Gaby shook her head and gritted her teeth. Sign of what? Had she forgotten something? No, she had packed everything; even the emerald green dress that she didn’t know where she would ever wear again. No, she had taken everything with her.

Except maybe Illya.

Gaby sighed and pushed herself away from the fender. She walked back and forth in front of the car angrily. No, Illya wasn’t hers to take. He had family now. Family and a home and that’s it. Gaby kicked the tire again, just because she felt doing it. He wouldn’t leave with her to Switzerland to eat chocolate and look at the Alps, because he had his own life now.

Except she didn’t know that he wouldn’t leave with her.

Gaby climbed back into the car. She took hold of the steering wheel and shook it violently. Stupid car. What kind of mechanic couldn’t say what was wrong with a car? Gaby tried to start it again and yet the car did nothing. “Why don’t you work, you French bastard?” she yelled at the car and pounded the steering wheel. She collapsed against it and pressed her forehead on the black leather. Of course she knew Illya wouldn’t leave with her.

Except she hadn’t asked.

Gaby flopped back against the seat and slid down a little. She sighed. This was ridiculous. She was stuck. And instead of thinking practical things, like could she carry her possessions which now included two bags instead of one and just leave the rented car here, she thought about Illya. His eyes and lips and religious icon face and how he looked at her. And kissing.

Gaby straightened behind the steering wheel and looked out at the dark night through the windshield. Maybe she should ask. It couldn’t hurt. She would ask. Then she would know. She had said that to Illya in Moscow. Now she needed to follow her own advice. Gaby sighed again. That of course didn’t change the fact that her car was in the middle of the road and wouldn’t move. Gaby grabbed the key and tried one more time. The car started completely normally.

“Oh, you French piece of shit,” Gaby snapped. “Of course you work now. Yes, I got the message.” She glanced at her mirrors and then turned the car forcefully through the traffic and made a slow U-turn in the middle of the road. All the other cars had to brake suddenly, there was a jam, and everybody honked. Gaby shook her head mostly to herself for driving like an asshole. And at the same time she really didn’t care.

***

Illya walked out of the open French windows to the stone patio. He sat down on a bench and leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. He wanted a little distance from all the people and attention inside: just a few breaths of fresh air without the fuss.

“I overacted,” Mrs. Kuryakin said as she stepped out and Illya lifted his head. Her mother’s heels made a pleasant sound against the stone when she walked. “I should’ve waited. Let your catch your breath before I invited the house full of people.”

“It’s okay,” Illya said.

“I can see that it isn’t,” his mother said gently and sat next to him. “Or at least invite fewer quests.”

Illya nodded slightly and his mother smiled.

She lifted her hand and stroked Illya’s shoulder. “Although I don’t believe that distant relatives are really anybody’s favorite guests,” Mrs. Kuryakin doubted. “I should’ve invited those funny friends of yours.”

“Who?” Illya wondered.

”Mr. Solo and Miss Teller,” his mother answered.

“Right,” Illya sighed. He hadn’t really thought about what they were to him. Have they been friends? Or only traveling companions? Acquaintances?

”Strange people,” Mrs. Kuryakin said, but smiled. “He is apparently going to stay with the Vinciguerras for a while. Alexander is still in Rome, so God knows to do what.”

Illya smiled a little. He had a very strong suspicion. He suspected that so had his mother.

“And she didn’t take her part of the reward, because it didn’t feel like the right thing to do,” she continued.

“She didn’t?” Illya asked, surprised.

”No,” his mother said, and then she smiled. “Did she tell that she took Puškin?”

Illya frowned when he remembered. “She was holding him in the cellar,” he said. He had loved that cat. “He survived?”

Mrs. Kuryakin nodded. ”She took him with her and he lived six more years with her in Berlin. She named him Kuryakin after us. It was the only reason she even remembered us, or you: that stupid cat.”

The little smile from Illya’s lips faded and he stared his shoes. He should’ve stopped Gaby from leaving. He shouldn’t have let her walk away. He should’ve gone with her.

Mrs. Kuryakin watched her son and the gaze that he had aimed at his shoes. She knew that look. It was the same look that Gaby had had in her study when she stared out of the window. She hummed a little when he realized the situation. That is why the girl had been so distant and didn’t look her in the eyes. She had come to return Illya to his mother and yet she didn’t want to give him up. She had been angry and sad and disappointed.

And now Illya was just like her; a little angry, a little sad, mostly disappointed.

“Maybe this isn’t the best place for you right now,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Illya asked and faced his mother.

“Everything has happened so quickly. Maybe it would do you good to take some time and think about what you want. Where you want to make your home and who with,” Mrs. Kuryakin explained.

“But I just came back,” Illya said. “And found you.”

“And I’m always here for you,” his mother said and stroked his shoulder again. It was different from before. He wasn’t a boy anymore, but a man, with a broad-shoulders. “And I am expecting phone calls and postcards and visits. But more important than you being here is that you are happy.”

Illya swallowed. He didn’t know if he could be happy. His mother took his face in her hands and kissed both of his cheeks. It smelled of peppermint and felt safe. She smiled.

”It’s your decision, Illyushka,” his mother said. “You do what makes you happy.” She stood up and turned to look at him from the French windows before she stepped back inside.

Illya took a deep breath and blew the air out of his mouth. He knew what he wanted. But it was too late for that. He didn’t know where Gaby had gone to find a home.

***

Oleg attached the silencer to his Makarov. Things were going better than he had imagined. Illya Kuryakin stood outside of his mother’s house. And instead of going inside, he walked down a few steps to the garden and started walking, his hands in his pockets. He had grown tall like his father. Oleg huffed a little. First he would deal with the boy. The mother would have to wait until later.

***

Gaby parked the car in an alley on the other side of the house. She leaned back in the seat and tapped the steering wheel with her fingertips. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She couldn’t really crash the party. That felt stupid. And the last time she had crashed their party, the house had burned, and Gaby didn’t want to chance that she had maybe had something to do with that. She got out of the car and watched the dark garden. She could see the big illuminated French windows and the silhouettes of people behind those.

She heard footsteps in gravel. And for some reason her first instinct was to crouch behind the car like a scared child. Gaby peeped around the rear bumper and saw a dark figure of a man. He had a long coat and a gun on his hand, and Gaby’s heart jumped. She was sure she had seen the man before. Except last time behind him there was not the orange glow of the big windows, but the flames in the drawing room and the heat on her face.

Gaby stayed put until she was sure he had gone. She stood up carefully and opened the trunk as quietly as she could. Gaby took out the gun from the other bag and screwed the silencer on. The gun was cool and heavy in her hand. Gaby closed the trunk but didn’t push it all the way. She took a few deep breaths and stepped on the soft grass and went to the dark garden.

***

Illya walked in the garden just to have some time to think. His shoes swished against the grass and then rasped in the gravel when he walked over a path. He didn’t turn to walk along it; he continued in his chosen direction and walked to the edge of the garden, near the river. The tall bushes were cut to cylinders and the statues watched emotionlessly when he walked past them. There were some repairs in the fence; sections of it were missing, the gaps were covered in plastic tarp and there were metal stakes and fence pieces in a pile nearby. Illya stopped to stand in the grass, his hands in his pockets, eyes aimed towards the lights on the opposite shore, and his head full of restless thoughts of Gaby.

Gaby, who was strong and brave. Somebody who would knock a man unconscious with a rock, hide a stranger from the militsa, jump off a moving train, and wouldn’t lift her leg from the gas pedal when somebody shot at their car. It was odd to think that it was the same Gaby who always asked was everybody okay when something happened, who had let Illya sleep in her arms after nightmares and who had patched the wounds of a complete stranger. Gaby, who Illya didn’t kiss even though he had wanted to.

Illya could hear steps swish against the grass, but he didn’t react. The gait was heavy, so he knew it wasn’t his mother.

“Illya Kuryakin,” a voice said.

Illya turned to look. The man didn’t look like he was at the party. He had a long coat over his dark suit and a gun in his hand. Illya glanced at it quickly and took his hands from his pockets. His body tensed.

“You grew up a man,” Oleg said callously in Russian.

Illya knew the voice and in the dim lights of the few lamps in the garden he could see his face and he knew that too. He remembered those from somewhere long time ago and with them came the memory of his screaming mother. He remembered the man from the drawing room. He had hidden behind the armchair and looked at him in the gap between two chairs. He had stopped Gaby from entering the kitchen because he heard his voice there. The man had told somebody to shoot Illya if he should see him. The face and the voice belonged to the man who had wanted to kill him then and who wanted him dead now. That Illya knew. He had a weapon, his body was alert and his face full on contempt.

Oleg lifted his gun and aimed. And Illya could only stand still. He was too far from anything and the man would hit him before he could reach any cover. And he was too far to attack before he could fire. He could only wait to see when he would fire and where he would hit.

“How did you manage to escape last time?” Oleg asked.

“I got some help,” Illya said bitterly. It felt unfair that just as he had got his life back, it was being taken from him. Unfair, yet somehow poetic; maybe this was always his destiny. Maybe his happiness was a few days of friends and family and closeness before it all ended.

“This time you won’t get away,” Oleg said and cocked the gun.

There was a sharp whiz when the bullet went through the silencer. It hit the flesh and yanked the body off balance. Illya huffed, nonplussed, when he realized that Oleg was the one who jerked and blood splattered from his left shoulder. Illya looked around frantically but realized then that this was his opportunity to change the situation.

Oleg lost his position and his line of fire and Illya tackled him to the ground. Oleg hit him with the gun and the cold metal thudded hard on Illya’s temple and made everything blurry. Oleg crawled up. There was a quiet whiz of a silencer, but nothing got hit, then another. Oleg aimed at Illya, who was on the ground, and Gaby, whose bullets had run out just ran behind Oleg and jumped on his back. She wrapped her arm under his jaw and squeezed as hard as she could. Oleg threw Gaby roughly over his healthy shoulder onto the grass. Illya kicked him on the shin and Oleg dropped to his knees. But he had still the gun and only thing Illya could feel was the throbbing pain on his temple, and Oleg managed to get up. Gaby tried to attack him, but he saw it coming and was ready to shove her away. She tumbled to the ground, grabbed handfuls of gravel from the path, and threw those at Oleg. He fired his gun, but hit only grass from twitching when the gravel hit him. Illya started finally to see properly. Gaby’s fingers grabbed the grass and she lunged and attacked again. Oleg slapped her as hard he could and Gaby hit the ground like a rag doll and felt a burn on her cheek. Illya got up; he didn’t care if Oleg still had his gun, he had hurt Gaby and Illya was going to attack him even if he aimed at him. Oleg changed his aim quickly to Gaby, who was slowly and wearily getting herself up on the grass and Illya had to stop.

Oleg grunted. He didn’t know who the girl was but he was guessed correctly that aiming at her would stop the boy. “Try me, Kuryakin.”

Gaby turned and only then realized that she was the one being aimed at. She glanced at Illya, who only stared at the man with the gun. Illya’s face was tense and his posture hunched, like he was preparing to attack but couldn’t. Gaby knew it was because of her.

“You were there, in the fire,” Gaby panted, out of breath. ”You were searching for Illya even then.”

Oleg glanced to Gaby but didn’t say anything. When he looked back to Illya Gaby took her gun from behind her back. She had landed on it when she had hit the ground. It wasn’t useful, she didn’t have any bullets left, but Oleg didn’t know that. So Gaby lifted it and aimed at Oleg knowing that it just might be the last thing she ever did. It was reckless and stupid and she did it even if her mother had eighteen years ago told her never to do anything like that again. But it was all she could do to give Illya time.

Oleg was bleeding and he wasn’t as fast as usual and his aim shifted. And when he aimed at Gaby properly, Illya moved. He couldn’t look at Gaby and when Oleg fired at the same time he tackled him down, Illya didn’t know where his bullet hit. Illya looked up and his heart almost skipped a beat when Gaby ran to grab the gun Oleg dropped. Illya got up and moved a few steps back from Oleg. He waited for him to get up. He was wounded and unarmed.

Slowly and grunting, Oleg crawled up. The girl was aiming at him with his own gun and the boy scowled at him.

“I didn’t have any bullets left,” Gaby confessed, a little complacently to Oleg. It was all smoke and mirrors, she wasn’t smug, she was scared. Her heart pounded so loud that she was sure everybody could hear it. The bullet had hit the bush behind her only centimeters from her head.

Illya glanced at Gaby. He wasn’t sure if it was brave or just plain stupid to threaten somebody with bullets when you didn’t have any. Either way, he knew Gaby had done it to give him time and a chance to attack.

“Шлюха,” Oleg grunted. He stood hunched, holding his shoulder.

Gaby didn’t understand the word, but the meaning of it was written all over Illya’s face. Gaby lowered the gun. Illya could handle himself without her intervening.

Illya walked to Oleg. He prepared to attack but he couldn’t do anything to Illya in his state and not after what he had chosen to say. Illya hit him only once, but, as Napoleon had suspected, when it hit properly it was like a battering ram, and it broke Oleg’s jaw. He flopped on the ground, slowly crawling back up, bleeding from his mouth and still trying to win. He took a wobbling step back and his feet didn’t hit anything when he had stepped over the stone wall circling the garden. Oleg fell among the pieces of metal bars and pieces of fencing. Gaby made a sharp gasp when a metal rod suddenly pushed through his side and splattered blood on his clothes. Illya just looked, saying nothing.

Oleg again dragged himself up. He lost his balance; fell against the plastic tarp where the section of fence was missing. The tarp stained from his blood, ripped away from the fence, and he fell into the river.

Gaby and Illya ran to the fence. They leaned over it to see Oleg and the tarp vanish in the black water.

Illya stared after him. His heart was still racing. He looked at Gaby, who watched the water, and only then realized that she really was there; he wasn’t just imagining her. Illya took Oleg’s gun from Gaby’s hand and threw it in the river. Maybe nobody would ever find out that the man had even been here. Maybe everything would just wither away without any fuss. He turned back to Gaby. “Did you mean to hit him in shoulder?” Illya asked, because it was the first question to pop into his mind.

Gaby turned to Illya. She was out of breath and scared, but calming down already. “I aimed at his chest,” Gaby confessed. “You were right; I shouldn’t shoot before I know how.”

“No, it was a good shot,” Illya assured her. Gaby may have not hit where she intended, but she had probably saved his life. “Are you okay?” Illya asked and his voice softened faster than he thought possible after that.

“Yes. Is your head okay?” Gaby asked worrying. “Do you remember everything?”

Illya touched his temple. It still ached little, but it hadn’t bled. “I can remember,” he promised.

“You remember me?” Gaby wanted to make sure.

“Of course I do,” Illya nodded. “But I thought that you left.”

“I did,” Gaby said. She frowned somewhat because she noticed that she was hesitating and she didn’t want to hesitate. “I just… forgot to take something with me,” she said almost shyly.

“What?” Illya asked.

“You,” Gaby whispered and looked Illya straight in his eyes. “I understand if you need to stay here. Or you just want to stay here. But I needed to say it out loud. Otherwise I’m just going to forever wonder what if.”

Illya looked at the house and the big illuminated windows. People behind it. People toasting with crystal glasses, eating caviar, talking about ballet, wearing expensive clothes, diamonds on their ears and necks. Then he turned to look at Gaby who stood in the gravel in front of him. Her hair was messy, there were grass stains on her clothes, she had an unsure look in her eyes, rosy cheeks, one rosier than the other.

His mother had told him to do what would make him happy.

***

Gaby took his wrist and pulled him over the threshold in the room at the west wing, where they weren’t in anybody’s way. Every time something meaningful happened, Gaby was there to pull him along by his wrist. And this was meaningful. The door closed behind them and Gaby guided Illya towards the bed. He caught her in one leap, pulled her in his arms and kissed her. Gaby’s lips were soft and opened against his mouth. They rolled on the bed still kissing. Gaby pushed the jacket over his shoulders.

Illya felt that if he had a chance to get Gaby take his clothes off for him, he wouldn’t ever undress himself again. It was much nicer this way. Her hands untied his tie and pulled it slowly off his neck. They were on his shirt buttons, his belt buckle, and then pushed wonderfully curiously under his clothes. Illya reached to open the zipper on her expensive dress; the fabric rustled when it fell in the floor.

Most of all Illya was afraid that he would be too clumsy or awkward and that would spoil everything. But it was hard to feel anything like that when his every touch just made Gaby look at him with bright eyes and smile at him. She kept coming back for more kisses and pressed herself against him willingly. She lavished him with attention; kisses on his neck, mouth corners, earlobes, temples. Her lips pressed again against his lips. Her kisses were deep and passionate, her tongue still so gentle against his; kisses that left Illya out of breath. Her fingers laced in his hair. She eagerly lifted her hips clear of the bed so Illya could slowly pull her underwear off.

It was better than anything before. It was soft and tasty and all for him. Gaby’s hands moved on his back and pushed away memories of loneliness by pulling him closer. Her skin was so warm and smooth against his hands. He had always thought that his hands were made for crude things, but now Illya noticed that they fit perfectly against her body; to explore her sweetness. They fit perfectly over her breasts and feeling her nipples on his palms. They fit perfectly against the arch of her neck, the small of her back, her hips and butt cheeks. They fit perfectly to slide over her belly and move slowly down, over the patch of curly brown hair and between her thighs where everything was warm and slick. And the way Gaby arched her back and sighed softly told Illya that she thought that his hands fit perfectly there too.

Then her little clever hands were against his skin, touching, caressing, exploring. Her teeth softly bit his lower lip and her hand slid down his abdomen to wrap around him. Illya couldn’t do anything other than let Gaby stroke him gently. Her tongue rubbed softly on his lips and then against his tongue. Illya threaded his fingers in Gaby’s hair and kissed her, the only thing he could do as long as Gaby just kept her hand on him and was so very good to him.

They filled the room with sweet sounds; whispers, kisses, quiet little laughs, sighs, low moans. It filled with tender touches, little smiles and lust. It was roomful of beautiful things that slowly rained on them like cherry blossom petals. Illya finally got Gaby; he got to press himself against all of her warmth, bury his face in the crook of her neck, slide inside of her and touch as much as he wanted. Her legs wrapped around him, her hands pulled him closer. His mouth smothered her moans. She gave him everything she had to give and it was more than anything had ever been before. It was freedom and bliss and relief in the best possible way.

And it didn’t end when it stopped. Afterwards there was the thick duvet over them, hands against each other’s skin, soft whispers on their lips and in their ears. Illya covered Gaby in Russian endearments. She understood a word here, another there. But even if she didn’t understand all of it, she still felt the words in her heart.

”Thank you,” Illya muttered quietly and softly near her ear. His nose slid along the soft skin behind her ear and Gaby hummed in her contentment.

“It was really my pleasure,” she whispered softly and her hands moved from Illya’s shoulders to his hair.

Illya muttered happily against her neck. “No. Thank you for taking hold of my wrist back then and getting me out,” he said, when he turned his face away from her neck.

Gaby smiled a little. He moved his head away so she could see his face. Illya’s hair was messed against the bed and her, his face was so relaxed and eyes so bright that Gaby’s heart almost skipped a beat. She set her hand on his cheek.  “I am sorry that you still disappeared.”

“But if I had not, I would never have met you again,” Illya said gently.

“Was it worth it?” Gaby asked. She felt like her eyes were suddenly full of tears and anything Illya would say would just make them run. And his eyes and face told what he was going to say. And even when Gaby knew it was coming, it made her heart pound in her chest and her hands tremble. It felt too much of an emotion to contain in her body, to anybody’s body. It felt big as the Alps

“Yes,” Illya said and pulled her into a kiss. Gaby squeezed her eyes closed and the tears got loose of her eyes. She wrapped her arms around Illya as tightly as she could. She may have lost him once, but she would never let that happen again. From now on, she would never let go of his wrist.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the end. I have gotten so many nice comments that I don’t even know how to be anymore. Thank you for everybody who wrote those. And thank you for everybody who left kudos or just read it and liked it. It was really fun to write and I hope it was as good as so many hoped after the first chapter. And special beta thanks to MollokoPlus, thank you for making my words understandable :)
> 
> Here is the last picture.  
> [Switzerland 1963: Perfect beginning](http://edenforest.tumblr.com/post/140282262290/the-man-from-uncle-anastasia-au)

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to MollokoPlus


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